


Death's Own Song

by WeAreMisfortune



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alastor doesn't know what he wants, And Music, Annoyances to Friends to Lovers, Bonding Over Murder, Casual Sex Worker Angel, Charlie is the Mom friend, Demons Will Be Demons, Denial of Feelings, Eventual Romance, F/F, Found Family, Humor, M/M, Power Couple Alastor and Angel, Power Exchange, They're All In Hell for A Reason, and blood, apparently there's a plot in here somewhere, dual-POV, massive liberties taken with backstories, murderers in love, there's gonna be so much love oh my god, they sneak fluff in there somewhere, this is somehow a love story, tons of that, who knew
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:08:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25854094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeAreMisfortune/pseuds/WeAreMisfortune
Summary: The hotel is supposed to be a safe haven, and it is— unless you're a demon with no desire for redemption. With the daughter of Lucifer and the Radio Demon himself living there, it's also a beacon for any idiot with a death wish. Or an old enemy that's been lying in wait.Alastor has no problem defending his new investment (and certainly no problem killing for it) but when Angel Dust follows him into the fray they find themselves cultivating an understanding of each other that they'd never encountered before.Now drawn together by a fierce lust for blood and loyalty to their new home that neither expected, Angel and Alastor need to keep everyone alive so they can figure out just what the -Hell- this feeling even is.
Relationships: Alastor/Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel), Charlie Magne/Vaggie
Comments: 60
Kudos: 176





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These two have so much potential I can't stand it.

It had only been a matter of time before they started crawling up from the depths. 

Alastor had been aware of eyes on them for weeks now. Watching. Waiting. Taking stock of who went where and when from the Hotel grounds. Whoever their mysterious stalkers were, they were not new to this game. 

How _interesting_ that they hadn’t bothered to make themselves known yet. To his knowledge, there had been neither word of a threat, nor an outright attack. If Alastor’s instincts weren’t as well-honed as they were after all these years, it was unlikely anyone would have even noticed before it was too late. 

It was highly unlikely that the culprits were unaware of him, and to come looking for trouble in his line of sight took a bit more gumption than your average demonic deviant. And this thought didn't come entirely from his pride, no, it was a simple fact that it was an unspoken rule that the Overlords were to be avoided at all costs. They didn't even associate with each other regularly.

This kind of planning took patience. Experience. 

Well, no one could quite match him for experience.

Still, Alastor knew very well he had a reputation. It was one he’d cultivated carefully, making sure that each movement became a cog in the grand design. His shows brought terror into the hearts of Hells most blackened and twisted souls. The very whisper of his name brought forth the rattle of bones, the cold slide of fear in the dark. And with his infamy came power. Territory. A purpose in the sprawling eternity of his afterlife.

But most of all it brought _entertainment._

He was little else if not a showman; but to his heart, he was a killer. There had never been anything to him more lovely than the sound a voice made when gagging on blood. _Oh_ , what music to his ears! It was his duty — his privilege, even — to share the symphony of his carnage with the underworld. In fact, he’d made his afterlife into doing just that.

Of course, certain aspects became difficult as his influence grew. Demons were notoriously cowards. The crawling, ravenous scum that the earth couldn’t keep and the Heavens rejected. It was a rare and glorious pleasure to find an opponent worth sinking his teeth into. Even those stupid enough to cross him in his own land were disposed of so quickly it was as though they were never there at all. 

Such a bitter disappointment, they were. A shame. 

_A bore_. 

Creating his own source of amusement had been the key to maintaining what threads of Alastor’s sanity he’d had left after his demise. Being one of the few demons with the power to rise topside and claim souls for himself had been a boon. No one, absolutely _no one_ could create chaos quite like the humans. It set his dials rolling just at the thought. There, he dolled out contracts left and right to the lonely, the sad, and the desperate. _Bring me love,_ they’d say. _Bring me glory, money, vengeance—_

**_Power._ **

What a gas _._

At least it never got boring, watching them cultivate their own pain and letting it kill them. Actually, it was all quite _fun_ , the entire affair; the luring, and the tempting. Not to mention _wonderfully_ rewarding upon their deaths when he came to collect his winnings.

Alastor’s grin darkened. His shadow skittered along the wall behind him, sharing in his amusement, their voices mingling together in his mind. He weaved past Niffty as she scrambled back and forth on the stairs, surveying the near-empty lobby of his latest investment.

The entry room was now bright with deep reds and blacks and golds, unlike the sad dilapidated grey that had overtaken the decor before. The Hazbin Happy Hotel, run by the sweet-faced spawn of their illustrious ruler. A truly ludicrous endeavor that was surely doomed to thundering, public failure. One he could hardly _wait_ for if he did say so himself!

But for now, the hotel was under his guidance, his dime, and therefore, his protection. And as with anyone living with notoriety, there were always rivals looking for an opening to send him tumbling from his pedestal. 

Sometimes, it was just prudent to make an example of such things.

“Husker, my good man!” Alastor called out to the bartender, rounding the staircase with a flourish. The cat demon snarled at him, cleaning the glasses and placing them on top of the bar with uncharacteristic gentleness. For as much noise as he’d made when given the assignment, he’d sure taken to it like a duck to water. Paying him in alcohol almost always proved successful, however.

“Don’t start with me, Al,” Husker grumbled, his perpetual frown deepening in his furred face. “I’m not in the mood for any of your shit. What do ya want?” 

Alastor’s laugh was static waves, satisfaction rolling up his spine when Husker twitched at the uncomfortable pitch. “I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean! No, you see, I simply came to ask you if you would do me the favor of making sure everyone remains safe and accounted for in the hotel tonight.” 

"What, like you don't want anyone to leave?" Husker paused his cleaning to look at him and Alastor simply raised a brow. After a moment his companion's eyes widened in understanding. "Who is it this time?” 

Ah, good ol' reliable Husker. They’d been doing business together long enough that he could read between the lines. It was a trait Alastor appreciated. 

“You know how it goes when I stay in one place too long.” Alastor waved a hand dismissively, “Dissenters who think I’ve gone soft, rebel souls who think they can break their contracts early—Finding out is half the fun! Nothing to worry about.” He said, fingers skittering along the edge of his microphone. “But it would be terribly helpful if you'd do as I ask. Wouldn't want any _distractions,_ if you catch my drift.”

“Oh, sure, of course. That'll be _so_ easy to explain to miss sunshine and her walking arsenal of a girlfriend.” Husker said, his voice rising with sarcasm as he narrowed his slit-pupiled eyes.

"Come now, my friend. When have we ever bothered with what was _easy?"_

Husker grunted at him, glancing at the stairs, trailing his gaze up to where the other rooms were. Try as he might to keep himself distanced from their operations here, it had not gone remiss to Alastor that his boozy friend had gotten himself a little _attached_ to the current residents of the hotel. It was almost sweet — if not completely foolish. 

“Look, boss, not that I generally care if someone manages to skin your scrawny hide, but I’m diggin’ this gig right now. It's cozy. I got all the free booze a guy could ask for...So in the interest of protecting my own situation – Are you sure you should be takin’ on a bunch of unknowns by yourself?”

Alastor tilted his head, the air sparking and splitting around him. “Is that _doubt_ I sense? Husker, I’m heartbroken, truly.” 

“Aw, shut the fuck up,” Husker snarled, stepping back from him. “I’m just sayin’ maybe we should be paying more attention to who comes sniffing around and causing problems. I don’t like the idea of getting taken by surprise. What if one of these assholes ends up being someone we don't wanna fuck with? You aren't the only Overlord and it's no secret the girl caused enough of a stir on her own let alone with you here. Not to mention Angel Dust running out on Valentino.” 

He was glaring, but the twist of his lips belied something along the lines of actual concern that Alastor wouldn’t have taken into consideration before. Maybe he had underestimated his companion's emotional capacity after all. 

Alastor rested his chin in his hand, the dials in his head shifting noiselessly. It was true that they were certainly drawing more attention to themselves as a unit. Anyone with the gumption to threaten the status quo didn't usually last long. But they'd created a series of circumstances around themselves and the hotel that left things to a certain amount of ambiguity.

The idea had merit, he supposed. It wasn't impossible they were being targeted. And it was a rare enough situation that sent old Husk’s whiskers tingling enough to bother saying anything. Husk usually kept to himself, didn’t bother meddling in or fighting for the affairs of others. Unless he was compelled to of course.

But in the end, it didn't matter. If there _was_ someone formidable lurking around his land, then all it would mean is that Alastor would be in for a night full of fun and games as far as he was concerned. 

That was the joy in his nightly rounds anyway; the possibility of _new flesh_. 

"Ah, well." There was all but a skip in his step as Alastor turned to walk away, waving a hand over his shoulder as he made for the door. “I think it sounds like a great time! Now, if you’ll excuse me, my feline-adjacent friend,” he smiled as wide as he was able, noting the way Husker shifted uncomfortably. “ **_It appears I have some work to do._ **”

  
  


-&-

  
  
Sometimes life took you in unexpected directions. You never really knew where you were gonna end up. Who you were gonna meet, what was going to affect your decisions. It was all just a big gamble. Death itself didn’t even let you off easy. Oh, no. 

See, Angel had been raised with faith (in a family of murderin’ mobsters, you had to know who’s forgiveness you were askin’ for) but he’d never really entertained the idea that there would be much more after the big sleep than just that. Big, black nothingness. Quiet, maybe. Peaceful. He wasn’t looking forward to that. Never had been much for silence, but it caught up with him all the same. 

So when he woke up in Hell it was a whole _thing_. Not only was he still alive-ish, but he was _new_ , he could be and do whatever the fuck he wanted and that’s exactly what he’d done. Yeah, maybe he’d gotten himself wrapped up in situations that weren’t...stellar. Angel had always been good at that. Time was meant for doing, not for standing around and thinking about what could have been. But after spending decades getting absolutely hammered under Valentino’s contract he could admit that maybe it was time to slow down. A little. 

Alright, maybe he wasn’t entirely sure what his new plan was as of yet.

What he did know, now, at this moment, was that his back fuckin' _ached._

 _Bullshit. Can’t even say it was because of anything fun_ , he thought as he rolled and curved on his bed in an attempt to work out the kink. In fact, he was pretty sure it was due to the disruption of his normal routine. Certainly wasn’t getting his stretch on as much as he was used to, that’s for damn sure.

At least if he could blame it on one of his Johns being into the freaky shit, he’d be able to justify feeling like an old man in Hell of all places. Maybe it was mental. He’d heard your mind could start playing tricks on you, showing up in your body as random pains. Some way to tell you that you were ignoring things you didn’t want to deal with. 

Yeah, well. Fuck all that. Some issues were just meant to fester. 

Besides, worse than the ache was the _boredom_. Charlie had cracked down on him way harder than before now that people finally had eyes on them. Al had managed to bring some sort of security and interest, but that meant the rules had to actually be _followed_ and what a pain in the ass that was turning out to be. 

He still worked, because this was supposed to be a _process_ and also because if he hadn’t maintained some sort of independence he was likely to head down to one of the Pits and feed himself to the ground dwellers. Grateful as he was to be out from under Val’s thumb (for now), he wasn’t sure how any demon was supposed to maintain what Cha Cha considered a “clean record”. 

Angel was currently drug-free and on a strict booze limit which in itself was just a fuckin’ travesty. He’d do just about anything for a strong buzz at this point, but Husker wasn’t moved by his offers and looked just pissy enough to actually do some damage if he tried for it. 

But the worst— the most mind-numbing, soul-stealing part of the whole thing was that he hadn’t been allowed to kill anyone since the turf war with Cherri. 

Sure, it’s not like he’d gone around before killing indiscriminately or anything, but he’d been born into a tight-knit family that had been all about _tradition_ and _loyalty_ right up until you did something they didn’t like, of course. But Angel knew what it meant to silence someone who came steppin’ up to you, threatening what was yours. He’d done terrible things in the name of the family, even if they ended up fucking off on him, and there had been a certain kind of satisfaction in having something to fight for. 

Maybe that’s what he really missed. Who knew. 

He flung himself up from his prone position on the bed, startling Fat Nuggets just enough that the little pig lifted his head. Angel walked over and brushed a hand over his head, smiling as the animal pressed into him. 

“Daddy’s gettin’ twitchy in here, Nugs.” he sighed. “Gonna go see if I can’t convince Charlie to give me some leeway on the drink since I’ve been so good lately. Wanna come?” 

Fat Nuggets snuffled into his hand one more time before curling back up into a ball on his bed and falling asleep. Angel huffed, a chuckle falling from his lips. Guess that was his answer. 

“Yeah, I don’t blame ya,” Angel said. He pressed a kiss to the pigs’ adorable head before wandering out of his room with every intention of sweet-talking his host into letting him have his way. 

He swept through the now familiar halls, weaving his way around as he tried to muddy out what he was gonna say when a bitter growl had him quickening his steps. 

“What the fuck do you _mean_ we can’t _leave_?!” Vaggie’s furious voice drifted up and out from the spacious main room. Angel winced and whistled low under his breath while over the railing to catch a glimpse of the drama. Charlie was looking between Husk and Vaggie, her mouth in a soft frown and her eyebrows drawn together as she tried to keep her girlfriend from bodily harming the cat demon. 

"Listen, doll, Al said he had some business to take care of and that it would be best if we all just hung out in here tonight. What's the big deal?" 

"I will _not_ be told what to do by some narcissistic, fucking _snake-oil-salesman_ –" 

" _Vaggie."_ Charlie pleaded. "Hold on, we don't know the whole story–" She reached out to grasp onto Vaggie's shoulder, which of course, worked to calm her almost immediately even if the girl looked like she wanted to saw off Husker’s neck with her teeth. Charlie pinned Husker with a nervous smile, "I mean...is it something we need to know about?" 

"Al doesn't think so," Husk responded, but he wouldn't look her in the eye. Even from his vantage point, Angle could tell he wasn't as confident in his answer as he wanted to be. 

"Husk," Charlie sighed. "We can't have Alastor on a killing spree while representing the hotel!" 

"Oh, well, would _you_ like to go stop him then? Be my guest." 

Vaggie was growling menacingly, dark mutterings falling from her lips. Angel always thought _he_ got stir crazy, but Vaggie had a full form case of claustrophobia and an innate rage against people who made her feel trapped in any way. The idea of not being "allowed" to leave probably had her near the brink.

Angel flipped himself over the railing of the stairs, his long legs making the fall near nothing to him as he landed next to the bar. Charlie and Husk yelped in surprise but Vaggie was too busy burning a hole in Husk's face to care. 

"Angel Dust? What the hell!" Charlie gasped, clutching her chest. "Where did you even come from?" 

He pointed up, shooting her a blank look. "Uh, upstairs? Overheard ya yellin' about ol' Smiles. What's this about a killing spree? I'm a little sad I didn't get an invite." His lips fell into an exaggerated pout which, unsurprisingly, did not endear him to her. 

"I swear to fucking _Satan_ ," Vaggie hissed. "Can you be serious for just once? Our benefactor is probably out there causing a whole— _scene!_ Do you know how bad this could look for us?” She scoffed, flinging her hands up. “Of course you do. You can barely manage to keep your own shit together.” 

Angel tilted his head in concession but, _Ouch._

Charlie had been relatively quiet, taking in the situation, trying to analyze, to understand. Her eyes were wide, almost shining and Angel hoped to whoever that she wouldn’t start crying."We _just_ got some positive interest in the hotel. Why would he do this?" 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Angel held up his top two arms, his bottom ones crossing. The group was becoming various shades of distressed, and this was _Alastor_ they were talking about. Surely the guy had his own business to attend to. Isn't that what Overlords did? They ran shit? "Let's back up a bit here, princess. Pretty sure the guy's whole thing is about makin' deals, and he made a deal that he was gonna help you with the hotel, didn't he?"

"Well, yeah. I suppose that's true…" Charlie said, her eyebrows furrowing like she'd been presented with a puzzle. "It just doesn't make any sense." 

Husker rolled his eyes, tipping back a bottle for a long swallow before wiping his mouth on his wrist. "You sure changed your tune. I’m sure he'll love to hear all about how the _hooker_ was the one who ended up in his corner." 

Angel blew him a kiss and Husker growled. “Hey, I don’t have to like the guy to pay attention to him.”

The cat demon muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Debatable” but Angel let it go when Husk continued: "Look, I hate to say it – but he's right. It sounded more to me like Al just didn't want anyone getting caught in the crossfire if some shit did go down." 

Vaggie's anger had simmered down to a low boil as Charlie's shoulder pressed into hers. That girl had some kind of magic juju when it came to Vaggie, goddamn. "What kind of shit are we talking about exactly?" She asked.

"Dunno the details," Husker replied, bored already. "He thinks there's someone eyeing us. Went to take care of it." 

Charlie gasped, her hands coming up to her mouth. The glisten in her eyes was about to take a dangerous turn towards teary. Man, she really just swung from one emotion to the next. "Alone? But what if he's in danger?" 

"Danger?" Vaggie snorted. "That psychopath has taken down some of the most powerful and ancient beings in our realm. If the hotel _is_ being scoped out by a bunch of punks, Alastor isn't even likely to break a nail."

“I didn’t even think about the possibility that he would be out there trying to protect us!” Charlie said, sounding guilty for some unfathomable reason. Like the guy didn’t come and go and kill as he pleased. She was chewing on the nail of her thumb, already pacing her way to the door like she was going to sprint if they looked away from her for too long. 

Angel wasn’t stupid enough to think the princess of hell was really as weak as she may appear, but there was no way she needed to be out there gallivanting after the Radio Demon by herself. She was probably just crazy and kind enough to do it too. 

And, if he thought about it, wherever Al went there was likely to be a big, _bloody_ mess to look forward to. The guy didn’t do anything without some sort of flair; it was definitely an attractive feature even if he was a complete stick in the mud. He’d listened in on a few broadcasts after Al’s first arrival and Angel had to hand it to him; he took the messy nature of murder and made it sound like _art._ He’d give a few high-caliber lays to be able to witness that man in action but here he was, _stuck—_

Angel paused, chewing on the corner of his lip in thought. 

Maybe....maybe he could make this work in his favor. 

“Hey so. What if I just go to make sure he’s still kickin? Ya know, it’s kind of shit leaving him to fend off who knows what.” He said, keeping his voice as steady as possible when all three heads whipped around to him at once. Angel shrugged like he wasn’t already twitching at the thought of getting his hands dirty.“I’m quiet when I wanna be. I don’t even have to let him know I’m there. Or if he’s done, we both come back. No harm, no foul, eh?”

There was a series of rapid blinking, that feeling when the air stops and everyone inhales at the same time. Then:

“Are you fucking _crazy—?!”_

“No, you idiot. The entire _point_ was to keep you bozos inside! If he knows I let you just waltz the fuck out of here he’s gonna—”

“ _Why are we all yelling? WHY ARE WE YELLING?!”_ (Oh, that’s where Niffty got off to; tracking a wide arc across the ceiling)

At least he was good at ignoring large groups of people. He stood in the midst of the noise, lips pursed and brow raised, leaning against the bartop and completely content to let them all wear themselves out.

“Angel, are you sure?” Came a soft voice in the midst of the fray.

Charlie’s quiet question was somehow louder than everyone else’s shrieking. She had that way about her, always taking up space in a room without meaning to or even wanting it. Maybe authority had more to do with breeding than he thought. 

“No sweat dollface. I’ll go scope it out and come back. I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’ll let me have a go at the leftovers if he’s feelin’ up to share.” He winked at her, attempting to be as reassuring as he could muster. His hands tightening over his arms to keep them from flailing in excitement. 

“No killing unless _absolutely_ necessary, Angel, I’m serious,” Charlie demanded (pleaded). “We just want to make sure Alastor’s okay.”

“Charlie—” Vaggie started, but Charlie shook her head. 

“I am not fucking dealing with this,” Husker hissed at them. “If he kills the slut, I am not taking the blame.”

“Come on _,_ guys,” Charlie said. “If something’s up, Al should know we have his back.” She turned to face Vaggie and all at once it was as if the rest of the room disappeared, an entire communication happening through their eyes. “Nobody should feel like they have to do everything alone. Not even the Radio Demon.” 

They stared at each other for another few moments before Vaggie groaned loudly and turned to stomp out of the main room. Husk threw his arms up in defeat, kneeling down to grab another bottle from the lower shelves grumbling, “What the fuck ever.” Charlie turned back to Angel, nodding at him with an encouraging smile and he grinned back, spine already tingling in anticipation. 

_Bingo._

  
  


-&-

  
  


You’d think they’d learn after all these long, long years. 

Alastor squeezed his hand shut, watching in mute satisfaction as the demon within his shadow’s grasp gasped and squealed under the pressure. This particular demon had the mottled grey skin of a seal and the slick, bald head to match, but his eyes were still human enough to sport a white sclera. Which made it all the easier to see the vessels crackling like little flashes of blood-red lightning as his body was deprived of oxygen. The edges of his mouth curled higher as he stalked towards his prey. 

His captives writhed fruitlessly behind the confines of his darkness, their fear and rage melding beautifully with what little sounds they could still make. Around them lie the scattered bits of the rest of their failed party. The air, already thick with the promise of rain, ran heavy with the scent of carnage. 

Alastor took a deep breath in, spinning in a gleeful circle for his temporary audience. A skull squelched and crunched under his foot when he stopped and the three of them screamed from behind their gags. Sweet suffering.

“Gentleman! I must say; with so many of you hiding out here I was expecting a fight with a bit more...moxie!” He spun his microphone around in a circle. “But alas, it appears that you are no more interesting than any other thoughtless vagabond. I suppose I’ll have to get my entertainment elsewhere.”

“Mmm Mmppph!” Came the muffled response.

Alastor laughed. Loudly. 

Two of the current survivors were fox-like in appearance and similar enough in feature to be called family if Alastor were to guess. Their mouths had been quickly silenced by tendrils of shadow, though the one was already missing his tongue after a prior incident earlier in the night. (No one could fault him for a little midnight snack) Of course, the one not missing a limb found enough of himself to try to lunge at Alastor. 

The world felt like it shifted and split as he let his aura go dark, brushing light tendrils over the surface of the eldritch power his Gods granted him. The shadows fell away from the fox’s face, remaining tight around his arms and legs only for Alastor to spear him through both shoulders with the tips of his claws as he pulled him close enough to smell his fear. 

“My good fellow! It appears that you have something to say! Why don’t you tell our dear listeners just what brought you and your idiot friends waltzing into my neck of the woods? I’m sure they’d all be very interested to hear a man recite the story of his very own death wish.” His microphone was hovering above his shoulder, it’s eye blinking in unison with Alastor’s own. 

The fox screamed, snarling viciously for as long as he was able until the air finally ran out of his lungs. “I ain’t tellin’ ya _nothin_ ’ you piece of _shit.”_

“Oh, well,” Alastor simpered, “that truly _is_ a disappointment. Maybe your brother over here will sing a different song.” 

“Wait—No!” 

Alastor knew very well that the other fox couldn’t talk, but he could still scream, and that was really all he needed. He tilted his head sharply, laughing at the resounding **_crack_** of bones splintering within the skin. The keen of agony was warm as any balm, and the fox in his grasp struggled and cried. Oh, it had simply been far, far too long since he’d had a proper hunt. 

“You’re gonna get what’s comin’ to ya, you sonofabitch!” The demon in his grasp was gasping, tears prickling the corners of his eyes that were slowly turning into mania. There was such a wave of anger there, such a deep-rooted hatred. It wasn’t anything new. Not to Alastor. “They’re comin’ for ya, and you’ll be wishin’ you’d never showed your face in the underworld when your body parts are scattered—” 

The sound of a gunshot and the thud of a body stopped the fox in his tracks. Alastor turned his unblinking stare to find none-other-than Angel Dust scowling down at the body of the seal demon who had apparently managed to wriggle out of his hold while Alastor was otherwise engaged. An ethereal knife glinted just out of reach of his gloved hand and Angel kicked it aside. 

“I swear, none of your mothers raised any of ya with manners. Couldn’t you see they were havin’ a conversation?” He huffed, but there was a grin on his blood-spattered face as he met Alastor’s eyes. He must have been close to the kill. “Hey Al, what’s shakin?”

A frisson of irritation scattered through his system, but Alastor couldn’t say that he was truly surprised. If there was anyone with the sheer lack of respect to disobey him, it would be Angel Dust. Rage slid in cold, burning lines down his spine. Familiar now in the face of one of his particular daily annoyances. He never had quite figured out what it was about _this_ idiot that got under his skin, but the sound of his voice brought everything around them into hyperfocus. 

—Along with the understanding that he may have allowed himself to get carried away with the torture part of this interrogation. Just a tad. 

He watched the blood run down Angel’s cheek and towards his mouth until the spider swiped it away with the pad of his thumb. Alastor let the wavelength symbols fall away slowly. If he were to be fair about it (and he was a _fair_ player, despite what others may think) Angel had just saved him from a potential embarrassment. He could live. This time. (he couldn’t likely say the same for Husker when he got a hold of him)

“Angel,” Alastor acknowledged. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Eh, you know,” Angel shrugged, one hand falling to his hip while the other two held his Tommy gun aimed between the eyes of the mute fox. “You took off, put us on lockdown, didn’t bother sayin’ where you were goin. Got the girls _all_ in a tizzy, thank you very much. I offered to come to make sure nobody had perma-ghosted ya.” 

“Ha! Please.” Alastor huffed. “You came because you were bored. ”

Angel’s grin was all sharp teeth and a glint of gold, “Aw, see that? You know me _so_ well, baby.” 

“I must ask that you desist.” 

“Alright, alright.” Angel’s expression shifted back into a vicious smirk as he surveyed the sea of corpses around them. He whistled low. “Man, you really did a number on 'em didn't ya?” 

The fox bristled and shook in Alastor’s hands again (he was almost startled to remember that he was there in the first place) 

“Ah, ah, ah my furry and furious imbecile,” Alastor held up a finger, waving it. “You still haven’t answered my question. He raised an eyebrow at AngelDust, tilting his head in permission. If the spider was going to be here, he may as well make himself useful.

Thankfully, he took the hint for once. “Can’t be havin’ that can we?” Angel asked, finger hovering playfully over the trigger. “If this one means somethin’ to ya big guy, you’d better fess up now cuz my trigger finger is gettin’ aaaawful slippery over here.” 

His captive’s teeth were grinding so hard Alastor could hear them cracking. He met eyes with his battered twins, and the injured fox glared hard and shook his head firmly. 

Alastor tsked, his power sparking and distorting the air around him. “Can’t win ‘em all! Suit yourselves, boys. Nice to meet you, but I’m afraid if you won’t talk you’ve just become a **_horrible_ ** waste of my time.” 

He let the fox go physically, lifting his hand and curving his fingers towards the palm of his hand until it glowed a beautiful, horrible green. Twin screams filled the air once more, followed then by the brutal ripping noise of flesh rendered from flesh and the squelch of meat hitting the ground. Alastor sighed, both in the relief of killing and disappointment of not getting entirely what he wanted. 

“Mannnn,” Angel pouted, lowering his gun. “Couldn’t ya have let me at least have the other one?” 

“You’re an interloper,” Alastor responded, gingerly wiping the dust from the hem of his jacket. “The fact that I’m not rendering your head from your body should be thanks enough for the little stunt you pulled. I’m not giving you my kill as well.” 

“Ugh come on! How would _you_ feel if you couldn’t get out and go on one of your little rampages whenever you wanted? I’m suffocating over here!” 

Alastor hummed, “That most emphatically sounds like _your_ problem!” 

“Oh, fuck _off_ —” 

A sharp noise came from somewhere behind them and Angel stilled, dual-colored eyes thinning to slits, and his mouth curling upward over his teeth. Then another from the opposite direction. 

“I don’t think we’re quite done here yet, Smiles.” 

His ears twitched, flickering this way and that as the sounds multiplied in the dark. Tittering chirps, stomps, and clicks. Hisses and growls surrounding them from behind the trees, circling closer with every breath. Alastor felt his mouth shift into a slow, anticipatory grin. 

“You’re free to leave, of course,” Alastor said. He struck his microphone staff into the ground, the monstrosities of the earth rumbling in response under his feet, awaiting his command. “But I do think you’re about to get your wish.” 

A body pressed against his back, tall enough that Alastor’s head reached only to the width of shoulders. He glanced over his own to see the way Angel’s eyes ravaged themselves pink, his teeth sharpening to longer points, and felt, for the first time, an answering hunger to the one throbbing behind his breast. 

“Oh, Al,” Angel’s voice was almost a sigh. “You _really_ know how to show a guy a good time.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waves* yeah hello. I'm ready for summer to be over so I can write more. (my job slows down immensely in the winter months, woo!) but anyway, here's this thing I did. hope you enjoy.

_I can't quite contain_

_Or explain my evil ways_

_Or explain why I'm not sane_

_All I can say_

_Is this is your warning_

**_Duality - Set it Off_ **

There were arguably too many demons in Hell to count, but Angel had been around long enough to think that he had a pretty good idea of who was who down south side. Which meant it was pretty fuckin’ weird to find that he didn’t recognize a single ugly-ass mug that came running out from the trees. 

Demons of various rank and type surrounded them, pushing into a circle, obviously figuring the two of them couldn’t take them all at once. Each snarling maw put a lot of effort into looking as terrifying as the guy beside him. Which, in all honesty, wasn’t very much in Angel’s opinion. Just another group of assholes trying to square up. 

The only thing that had really scared him since he got down here was the loss of control he’d felt under Valentino and he’d survived _that._ This kind of shit? Nah. Bring it on. 

Alastor was a firm weight against his back, even as short as he was, and Angel’s blood was rushing in his ears with the promise of a good fight. That aura of power coming from the Radio Demon prickled across his skin, goosebumps raising the hairs in a way that made him shiver in anticipation. 

He rolled his neck a bit, shrugged his shoulders to loosen them, and tilted his head back a bit towards the fuzzy-airwaves surrounding his companion. "Hey, Smiles, mind leaving the eldritch shit for later? I wanna have some fun first.” 

Alastor’s cackle rang out like a warning bell all static and malice, and it was so goddamn satisfying to see a few of the idiots draw back from them in fear from the sound alone. "Oh, you'll hear no argument from this corner." 

"On your mark then, Red." 

The earth rumbled below them again and Angel felt rather than saw Al extend his hand to hover over it as if soothing the horrors underneath. 

"Laaaadies and gentleman, binaries and _non_. You're in for _quite_ the treat!" Al's voice _became_ the soundwaves in the air. Some of the demons flinched, covering their sensitive ears, "Tonight we truly have come across something _special_ ; an elaborate—if doomed to fail— attempt at a coup brought to you by the meandering scum of the lower depths. All armed to the _teeth_ , and hungry enough to come waltzing up to our front door!” He whipped his arms out, clearly in his element, crooning in velvet tones into the speaker to an invisible audience. “Can you believe such a thing? The nerve! Color me _impressed.”_

Angel’s grin came razor-sharp. There was a ripple of doubt circling through the ranks and they turned to their strongest for reassurance as Alastor continued his broadcast. He couldn’t tell why they hadn’t moved, but if they were all scared shitless at this display they sure as hell hadn’t seen anything _yet._

“And now, my _dear_ listeners, the time has come!" Alastor spun his microphone in a wide arc, the air crackling again as his features darkened and twisted black and mottled green. When he spoke it was layered with static and something else, something deadly and _ancient_. It sent a ripple down Angel’s spine. “ **_Let’s see if our new friends came to play._** ”

It was like the dam broke. They rushed from all angles, screeching and clawing. Angel buoyed himself on his feet, using the sturdy line of Alastor’s back to help angle him as he jumped into the fray with an excited cry of his own. His guns went off with the slightest press of his fingers, the bullets were fast and strong enough to take off limbs if he hit them juuust right and as they were extensions of him at this point—they did exactly that. Gore and bone scattered like confetti, a party in its own right. Backed by the sounds of Al tearing it up super-messy-leviathan style not too far away. He cackled in mid-air, his body flying until he landed on the other side, and _fuck_ when was the last time he’d felt this alive?

The group split apart like amateurs, running at him like they had a chance against the spray of lead he rained upon them. Four arms and four guns could do a lot of killing in a really short amount of time. Cherri would have gotten a kick out of these large crowds. He almost wished he’d kept a couple of her bombs on him. Too bad they’d been ‘confiscated’, but he had plenty to work with and Angel wasn’t about to complain.

A blood-curdling cry pierced the air next to his head and he narrowly avoided taking a set of claws as thick and long as his own arms through the skull. He grasped on to the corded muscle of the eagle demon’s leg, cooing in appreciation as he snapped it in half. It made a satisfying _crack_ that was almost overtaken by the agony that spilled from his opponents’ craggy beak. 

“Stupid _whore,_ ” the eagle hissed. “You should have minded your own business!”

“Not a whore tonight, honey,” Angel smirked, “And if it’s all the same, I don’t care who the fuck ya are.” He shot him right between the eyes, leaving the corpse to bleed out on the cold, damp ground. Sure, they’d regenerate eventually. Probably with their memories scrambled. But you had to be a real idiot to chase after the guy who left your brains leaking out of your ears.

A primal scream swept through the air and Angel’s head jerked up. They were almost hoarded around Al, trying in vain to attack through the ghostly spirals of darkness that were quite literally rending them limb from limb. One of ‘em ended up rolling out into the clearing with his skin ripped clean off. Yowza.

Angel couldn’t see the Radio Demon in the crowd, but it certainly _sounded_ like he was doing just fine. 

There was barely time to take a breath before someone else had him from behind. But this one had long tentacles wrapped around his torso, pinning his arms down and causing him to drop his guns as he squeezed him so hard his ribcage cracked. “She—esh,” he coughed, “can’t you give a guy a break?”

“Not so fast, pretty boy,” his captive growled into his ear as he was pulled against a body. There were eight tentacles and Angel groaned out loud. Fucking animal demons. An octopus? Lucifer really was the King of bastard ideas. Angel struggled, testing the elasticity, but of course, this was the one who happened to be _strong._ “Can’t have you fucking this up for us any more than you already have.” 

Angel spread his extra arms from the middle of his torso, snarling when they were caught and pinned as well. “And what’s that supposed to mean, you walking sushi bar?” 

A dark cackle wafted fish-stained breath in Angels’ face and he gagged, turning away and wondering if he could wriggle his middle arms back in and out again if he could get the upper hand– but he couldn’t seem to get the angle right. 

Something glinted bright and ominous in the crowd. One of the demons, a short female, who’s animal aspect he couldn’t quite make out, was dodging in between bodies and parts, weaving her way closer to Alastor. He was preoccupied with the bodies falling at his feet, but she was sneaking in from the side. Angel narrowed his eyes, trying to see what exactly she had clutched in her hand.

When his eyes landed on it, Angel’s breath hitched. Shit. Fuck. _Shit._

The guy who had him read his silence, “Lower-tier ethereal weapons might only do so much damage, but let’s see how the almighty Radio Demon holds up against an _Archangel’s_ blade.” His grip grew tighter, his smirk spreading along the length of Angel’s neck. “Maybe we’ll take you with us as a consolation prize.” 

“How the _fuck_ did you idiots end up with something like that?” Angel spat, ignoring the threat. Everyone always had to make the whore comments. _Get some new material already._

A long, slime-covered tongue flit over his cheek and the corner of his eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“ _Alright,_ asshole, you’re _way_ too fucking close for comfort. “You ever hear of mouthwash? Let me tell ya, they still got it down here and you should definitely give it a try.” Angel’s mouth ran without conscious thought, and he gasped when the hold on him got too tight. He could move his arms in any direction and the demon with the sword was small enough that she was using the others for _cover._ If Al didn’t see her…

Something hot and churning welled up inside him. A little murder and mayhem were one thing, but getting struck by anything that had an Archangel’s mark on it would _erase_ Alastor from every plane of existence. Lights out. Gone. Forever. 

Angel imagined walking into the Hotel without the now-familiar electric aura of the Radio Demon that felt almost as essential to the vibe of the place as Vaggie’s bitchy muttering and the hideous carpet. Angel could count on the spark of deranged laughter or the quieter trills of singing when he crept in late at night and Al was still roaming the halls. Sure, they didn’t always get along and they were as different as two people could probably be, but Angel respected him. And Alastor, at times, got down off his high horse long enough that they could have a conversation. They’d gotten used to each other. 

Which made the thought of some gang of fucking asshats being the ones to pull one over on Al set his teeth on edge. Literally. 

He stilled in his captor’s arms, focusing on lengthening his fangs. He reached back into his center and _pulled,_ grinning when he felt his mouth fill with venom. It was hard to make this stuff, and it could cause problems at work if he didn’t make sure to get rid of it all, but with his arms and weapons kept at bay, he didn’t have a whole lot of choice. 

The demon holding him was muttering enthusiastically under his breath, egging the woman on as if she could hear his fervent whispers. Maybe she could. 

Angel relaxed and leaned back into his grip. It startled him, loosening his arms and giving Angel’s torso and neck enough mobility to sink his elongated jaws into the bag-like form of the demon’s face.

There wasn’t even time for the eight-legged fuck to scream, the venom worked so quickly. Angel’d only seen the result on the inside a couple of times and it basically amounted to the victims’ insides turning into jelly. That suited him just fine.

Angel broke out of the hold as soon as the arms were free, sprinting towards the rapidly depleting group of wannabe killers. Al was all teeth and bloodlust, his red-eyed gaze never leaving the faces of his current play-things. He was toying with them, letting them get close enough to think they stood a chance and then ripping pieces off of them like they were made of paper mache.

_Move, you idiot, this isn’t the time to be admirin’ his handy work!_

Vaulting himself over corpses, Angel skidded to a stop when the ground broke apart, the gaping blackness eagerly eating up the demons who fell into it before sewing itself back together like nothing happened. He blew out an impressed whistle, moving out of the way of another attack _“Was that a fuckin’ harpoon?!”_ and continuing on.

Panic welled up in his throat again when he realized that the would-be assassin was already entirely too close to Al’s blind spot. How the hell had she managed to get that far without him noticing? 

“Oi, Smiles—Hey!” He screamed as loud as he could over the fray, but Alastor didn’t seem to hear him. The demon crouched, narrowing her eyes and crawling under a few falling bodies to level out her shot. Was she seriously gonna _throw_ it—? He inhaled as far as his battered lungs would let him and pitched his voice as high as he could:

“ _Alastor!_ ” 

Something cold slithered up the length of his legs, a chill, unlike anything he’d ever felt before. It stole the breath from his lungs, and he gaped as onyx tendrils wrapped themselves around his legs. They didn’t pull so much as drift him down and he scrambled, trying to stay upright but the ground opened up beneath him, swallowing him whole until his vision went dark. 

* * *

She thought she was being devious. What a _doll_. 

Alastor could sense the lack of vibrations in one of the group. It appeared she wasn’t quite as stupid as the others, opting to keep low and quiet. There had certainly been a few more perpetrators than he’d initially calculated, but it had made it that much more of a game.

They’d be picking body parts out of these woods for weeks yet.

Their unlucky moon shone bright and bloody above them, a discordant orchestra of screams and gurgling gasps rose up to greet him at every turn. Power thrummed within him, around him, in the borrowed skin and bones the Gods had gifted him upon his descent into Hell. 

Alastor whispered sweet words curled like smoke, a love song to Death herself into his microphone. It was a brave or idiotic demon who dared threaten him and his ventures; after this night the list of possible enemies would shrink considerably. 

He’d kept enough of an eye on Angeldust to know where he was, just in case he required assistance. There was an efficiency to the way Angel killed, and yet there was a feral _elation_ that accompanied his movements that Alastor couldn't help but admire. 

It would break Charlie’s heart if the spider didn’t return in one piece. Which, might be fun for a little while, but that also ran the risk of her shutting down the hotel altogether, and how unfortunate would that be?

And, he supposed, he owed Angel a favor for showing up and putting on a rather elegant display in his own right.

“ _Alastor!”_

His smile froze on his face at the sound of someone screaming his name. It had happened before, oh yes, many times. The poor souls he made his deals with always felt far safer when he used his name. They screamed it in terror, in rage, but not like this. 

Not with _concern_. 

The feeling of something tearing from his core almost doubled him over, but he caught himself on his staff, clenching his teeth tight. The horrors hissed in his mind, the cacophony of sound overwhelming his senses long enough that he didn't notice the arrival of another body until it pressed against his own. 

"I don't think so, toots!" Angel's voice broke through the roar and Alastor inhaled deeply, feeling himself realign, his power back within his thrall before looking up at him. "Ain't right trying to take out a guy who wasn't lookin'. What kind of honor code do you motherfuckers live by?" 

“ _Honor_?” The woman screeched, her eyes burning with hatred that glowed ever-bright when focused on Alastor. “What would _you_ know about honor?”

“Enough to know it ain’t any kind of fight trying to outnumber someone twenty to one.” Angel bore his teeth at the creature who'd been making her way towards him with quiet precision. His fur was matted with blood, his eyes spilling over with the cresting of his own power, and for a moment Alastor couldn't pry his gaze away. 

One pair of arms was locked into a stalemate with the female demon, Angel's gun twisted up in the gold-inlaid knife that gave off a light so glorious it was almost blinding as it inched closer to Angel's chest. 

Alastor placed a hand to his own racing heart, still a bit rattled at the dispense of his own power without his say. But there was no time for it now. 

The show must go on.

"

Well, well, well! Would you look at that?" He leaned around Angel, diverting her full attention to him and grinning like he wasn't shaking inside. Alastor eyed the blade as close as he dared. There were sigils inscribed on the hilt, glittering deadly with holy fire. "Why Angel, it seems they've gotten themselves an Archangel's sword. What a find!" His eyes widened as he turned to the demon who was currently being overpowered by the sheer force of Angel's will. 

My, he was quite a bit stronger than Alastor had initially given him credit for. 

Her jaw was clenched so hard her words came as a hiss, "Somehow, you're even dumber than you look." 

Angel scoffed. "Who fuckin' cares what she thinks. Just because they found it doesn't mean they know how to use it. In fact–" he grunted, forcing his gun and the blade out of the demon's hand, the sword flinging uselessly across the clearing. It's light faded as it hit the ground. Angel wrapped his secondary hands around her neck and squeezed. "I gotta say, lady, I'm over this. I got a nice, hot shower waiting for me back at home that you're keepin' me from. So tell us who you're working for!" 

"Fuck...you..." She gasped.

It seemed Angel was a man who liked to work with his hands. That should have been apparent to Alastor, he supposed, but it came as a pleasant surprise instead. He had a way with ranged weaponry, no doubt about it. But there was a familiar look in his eye when he came face to face with someone he knew was going to die by his hand. 

_How interesting._

Blood began seeping from her lips and she clawed at Angel's arms. His only reaction was to squeeze harder and repeat the question. 

Then, she smiled. 

"You'll find out soon...enough... _Alastor_ …" she chuckled, her eyes bulging. "But not...before the little princess does–" she gagged, on the fingers Angel shoved into her mouth without preamble, not even having the strength to bite down as a second hand joined the first and stretched. Angel was at least twice her height and, apparently, twice as strong.

"Listen, _bitch_ , I don't take too kindly to threats. And as far as you and your little band of _shit_ mercenaries are concerned, Cha-Cha's _off-limits._ " He smiled, horrible and promising into her face before glancing at Alastor. His eyebrow tilted in silent question, and Alastor, truly, was touched at the gesture. A gentleman! Why this night was just chock full of surprises.

He hummed a catchy tune under his breath, letting his essence curve around Angel's arms. They joined Angel’s hands as they pried the woman's mouth open wider and wider until the bones started to splinter. 

Alastor’s head brushed Angel’s shoulder as he leaned in to get a good view, their smiles matching intensity as they watched her gasp and scream. 

Maybe sharing wasn't such a terrible idea after all. 

  
  


&&

"Fuuuuuuuck, that felt good." Angel sighed, stretching his arms high as they walked and wriggling happily. "Haven't had a brawl like that in—decades!"

"Hmm," Alastor responded, turning over the wrapped angel blade in his hands. "It certainly did." He looked up to meet Angel's radiant grin. The spider looked refreshed like he'd had a long, restful night's sleep. "And you! Why I never knew you had such _spirit!"_

"Told ya. I may be Hell's Most Wanted Babe down here, but my family knew how to handle themselves. There ain't nothin' like that in the world like a good brawl." He sighed again, a bounce in his step. Alastor knew that feeling all too well. 

"Allow me to extend my deepest apologies for misjudging you. That was a rare and exhilarating experience! You did well, Angel. And, I suppose, I should thank you for your help.” he slowed to a stop, the words surprising even himself. There was a part of him that found he _was_ grateful that Angel came after him. 

Angel’s eyes were wide with shock and Alastor grinned back until the spider chuckled, the sound warm as he scratched at the dried blood on his cheek. That must be the reason for the reddening complexion, after all. 

"Heh, right back 'atcha, Smiles. Ya know, you're somethin' to watch that's for sure. I can see why you had Vaggie so freaked out at first." His gaze fell from Alastor's face to the sword and his smile fell with it. "Listen, I don't know much about politics, but I don't think just anyone is runnin' around with Holy digs like that." 

“No,” Alastor nodded as they found themselves walking up to the hotel doors. “They don’t.” 

“You think they killed an Archangel for it?” 

Alastor’s laugh burst from him, “Haha! Not a chance! Oh no, my dear, it may be rare but not impossible that something like this gets left behind after the purge. Archangel’s aren’t as infallible as they’d like for us lowly demons to think.” 

Angel made a noise of agreement, hands clutching the door handle. His mouth twisted. “But there _were_ a lot of them, Al. Wasn’t it weird to have that many randos crawling out of the woodwork to come after you with an angel blade? And that last one, she mentioned Charlie. So who’s the mark? You? Or her?” He opened the door and walked in, his eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Seems fishy to me.”

“Ah Angel,” Alastor sighed in a mockery of remorse as he followed him inside. “It’s common enough in my line of work. They’ll say whatever they need to, always prying for a weak spot where I have none.” His smile stretched across his face. “The only stake I have here is my own personal entertainment! And when this all inevitably falls apart, I will move on and all of my dissenters will follow suit.” 

The entry area was empty and dark. Even Husk had apparently drug himself off to whichever room he fell into when his shift was over. Alastor felt his shadow flit possessively over the walls around them, and he glared from the corner of his eye at the blue flash of a ghostly smile. 

Distracted, he narrowly avoided running straight into Angel’s chest. He looked up to see him curling his lips up in disbelief, arms crossed against the puff of fur that was also matted with blood. His fangs had shortened again, but there was still a decidedly reddened sheen to his lips and teeth that Alastor found himself fascinated by. Disappointment threaded through him when they disappeared under a frown. 

“Months now and that’s what it still means to you, huh?” Angel said, his voice suddenly devoid of emotion. “Tch. What’s with you Overlord types? Always acting like you're too big to give a real fuck about anythin'."

For once, Alastor found himself without a response. Silly thing. Of _course,_ that’s what it meant to him. He’d been nothing if not transparent with his intentions. He prided himself as an honest(adjacent) man. If others misinterpreted his words, well, it wasn’t his problem. 

His silence must have been answer enough because Angel was already walking away. Alastor watched his retreating back, his smile falling away in the short privacy of the dark only to return in full force when Angel called over his shoulder. 

“Oh, hey, Al, by the way. Gimme some warnin’ the next time you use your whole shadow-monster teleportation trick. Scared the fuck outta me.” 

Alastor's eyes flit to the corners to catch how his shadows sank into the floor behind him, running from the way his jaw cracked. Ah, yes. _That._ “My apologies, Angel! If we ever happen to be together in the throes of battle, I will do my very best to make sure you’re aware!” 

“Er...thanks.” Angel raised his eyebrow at him and Alastor willed his expression to remain still until the spider shrugged and turned, waving idly. “‘Night Al.”

He waited there, rooted to the spot until he was sure Angel had made it up to his room before summoning his shadows and stepping through the wall and into his own. 

The moment he entered, the old record player resting on his credenza adjusted itself, sliding the needle into a soft jazz song. Alastor let his shoulders relax, let his smile slip back into a comfortable tilt, and enjoy the moment back in familiar surroundings. 

His microphone’s eye slipped shut as he leaned it against the chair and fiddled with the buttons of his jacket. It slid off, sticky with blood and innards. As it fell from his fingers, it disappeared into a void at his feet where it would reappear in the lair of the only dry-cleaner this side of the pentagram who knew how to do it correctly. 

Everything in the hotel was a mismatched cluster of objects that Alastor’s sense of organization simply had not been able to abide. He’d taken the liberty of changing his room to suit him better, borrowing furniture that reminded him of his era, in deep reds and dark browns. He’d always hated the idea of wallpaper. The cheery, flowery designs that never went with anything. No, instead the walls were a deep, soothing sage that reminded him of how dark the woods used to look under a Louisianan moon.

Eventually, the rest of his clothing would follow suit, but for now, he simply wanted to sit. When he collapsed into the chair he brushed his monocle aside, summoning up a strong glass of bourbon before settling the full extent of his glare into the corner of the room where his shadow was still shifting in and out of sight. 

“Explain,” Alastor growled. 

The wraith sighed and flowed in transparent waves before coming together to take it’s favored form on the rare occasions they did converse. An obsidian mirror of him, the edges breaking away and returning like living smoke. When it opened its eyes and smiled, they glowed an otherworldly blue. 

_It was necessary._

Alastor’s grip tightened on the glass, his black-tipped fingers scratching the surface. “We’ve been in worse scrapes, with _far_ less chance of survival.” he took a long drink from his glass, letting the bite soothe the needles under his skin. It had been an invasion. As if his limbs had acted without his permission. He had never felt so apart from his own power before.“I can still... _feel_ his presence. Like a lingering stench. What did you _do_?” 

It tilted its head at him. _I let him help._

The glass shattered against the wall and Alastor stood, bringing himself eye to eye with his other half. He grasped onto ghostly shoulders, digging his claws in until he felt the pinpricks of blood on his own flesh. His shadow did not flinch but Alastor knew it felt it. 

_He_ was the only one who could do this. The only one who could touch, the only one who had control over himself. Of the darkness he’d given his life and soul for. 

They had never allowed someone else there before. Angel hadn't been passed through _space, Alastor's essence_ had assimilated itself to him. Moved him like it would Alastor himself. Consumed. 

Bonded.

“Why?” Alastor bore his teeth. 

Another sigh, the sound of wind through the bayou trees. 

_Because to save us was all he **wanted.** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk when this developed plot either don't @ me


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note: I don't character hate, so I hope no one takes anything a certain way. I'm just really about showing everyone's flaws as well as their strengths. I love all of these crazy babes. And this is DEFINITELY a found-family type of story. <3

_ It's been so long since you let yourself have a taste _

_ Denying the high _

_ As it pumps through your veins _

_ Why hold back the person that you are inside? _

_ To live while never feeling alive? _

_ Chaos — Ravenscode  _

  
  
  


Angel yawned, reaching out into nothingness with his long arms. His hips lifted in a languid stretch as he turned his face into his pillow. A sigh escaped as his bones cracked in satisfying ripples. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so good. 

Or smelled so  _ bad. _

Fat Nuggets was making unsatisfied growling noises from across the room and Angel couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment when the reek of drying blood and rot hit his nostrils. Fuck. He hadn’t managed to make it to the shower, had he? 

“Ughh,” He groaned, unpeeling himself from his bed. Frowning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand and scrubbed unsatisfactorily at his sheets with another two. “Nugs, you shouldn’t have let me pass out like this!” 

There was no way any of that was coming out now, he thought, scratching at the drying flakes in the comforter. Good thing he hoarded bedding like it was going out of style. 

The demon pig huffed at him, spinning twice in his little bed before facing away from Angel with a smug noise. Angel flipped him off. 

“Don’t go all diva on me. I  _ said _ I was sorry about the snack thing.” He said, sliding off the bed with a yawn and a long stretch. His body felt limber like it did after a good and thorough fucking. Angel usually loved the feeling the day after a good roll in the hay, but somehow this felt  _ better.  _ “Wasn’t much left of those idiots after Al got through with them anyway.”

Memories of the night before crept up on him as he waited for the shower to get as hot as he liked (which was _ very _ ) and a slow grin spread across his mouth. A full-on brawl was one thing, but to have someone at your back who could anticipate your movements so carefully made you feel like you could do  _ anything _ . 

Angel had to admit, he hadn’t expected that kind of thing from a lone-wolf type such as Alastor. Though if he had to be honest, getting dragged through whatever Hellscape Al’s magic was made of had been pretty fucking terrifying. It had been like–floating through what darkness must actually feel like. Completely devoid of life, or light.

But there had also been so much  _ noise.  _ A churning that felt like something between a roar and a scream. So quick it may have been nothing at all, except for the way it brought gooseflesh rippling across his arms just thinking about it.

Angel hadn't been  _ afraid _ . It had more been like that feeling of dread you get when you realize you’d...forgotten something. He was still puzzling that out.

There were plenty of bozos running around here with their own version of power, even the lower tiers had some kind of advantage nowadays. Alastor handled himself differently. It was like he’d been born to it— like he knew it better than his own skin. 

It was annoyingly attractive. Angel refused to think about that for too long.

Something else was nagging at him in the back of his mind, unsatisfied with the conclusion of the fight and the angelic weapons they’d found in the midst of it. Demons didn’t organize like that either. Not unless they had someone to organize  _ under. _

Angel had survived (and then died and survived again) because he trusted his instincts over everything else. Those very same instincts told him that there was far more to this than Alastor had let on and that Angel should not get too comfortable. 

As if echoing his thoughts back at him, a shriek of white-hot rage roiled up from the depths of the hotel and Angel jerked from his thoughts and back so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet. 

_ “ _ Is someone going to explain to me why the  _ FUCK _ there is  _ BLOOD _ on the  _ CARPET _ ?! _ ” _

Angel winced, pressing his lips together painfully. “Oh holy shit.” he groaned. He hadn’t thought about the mess they left. And of course, this was the _one-time_ Niffty hadn’t been up at the crack of dawn. “Fuuuuuck.” 

His neck prickled, an old tell, that had his legs moving thoughtlessly towards the door. A prissy three-step sounded as his hand touched the knob, something that he could only imagine coming from one person. Angel was seriously beginning to wonder if last night had been worth the absolute shit show that was about to unfold downstairs.

Vaggie’s yelling only grew louder as he slid the door open. Alastor was waiting, his arms crossed behind his back and his creepy smile stretched at the edges. “Er, hey Al. How’s it hangin’?” 

“Good morning, Angel! How are you faring on this fine day?” 

The guy really knew how to leave Angel openings when he wasn’t in the mood to take them. “Livin’ the dream, Smiles.” he couldn’t resist smirking just enough to show his teeth. “You gave me quite a workout last night. Thanks again.” 

Alastor opened his mouth to surely say something scathing, but their heads turned in unison as something slammed into a wall below them. Al’s eyebrow rose in demented interest while Angel’s frustration became evident in the grind of his teeth.

“Not that I’m super comfortable with her playin’ our maid or anythin,’ but where the fuck is Niffty? I’m surprised  _ she _ wasn’t the one calling for our asses on a meat platter.” 

Alastor’s head swung back almost mechanically, like called from a daydream. “Ah, yes. That is probably my fault. I sent her on an errand.”

Angel perked up, “What for? Did you figure something else out?” 

“Can’t say I know what you mean.” Alastor chuckled. “If it’s about last night, well, no reason to get worked up over a little gang war, Angel. I can’t imagine any of them will even look in this direction for a very long time yet.” 

“So you just decided to come check on me outta the kindness of your cute little Bambi-shaped heart, didja?” Angel asked dryly. 

Alastor didn’t look away when he lied. He didn’t tug his ear or tap his fingers. He stared straight through you like if he stood still enough, the questions would disappear on their own. 

Normally, Angel couldn’t care less what Al did as long as it didn’t affect him. 

But he sure as hell did not like being lied to. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He growled, stepping out of his doorway until Alastor had no choice but to bump chests with him or back up. “That’s what you’re going with? I was  _ there _ , Al.” 

Static. Screeching. Silence. Alastor’s lids lowered slightly, focusing on him for what must have been the first time since he showed up at his door. Angel met the stare head on and watched as Alastor’s mouth pressed together, then opened again as he took a breath to speak. 

Something crashed that sounded awful like a window and Angel groaned. “Oh for— _ Fine _ . Fine. At least tell me what the plan is. What are we gonna tell them about the—” he gestured like he was striking with a sword, “ya know.”

“I’d say silence is the best medicine in this situation.” Alastor grinned from behind the mask he’d slid back in place. Angel could have stabbed him.

“Yeah, sure. Then how are we gonna keep Vaggie from going completely nuclear on us if we don’t tell them what we found?” Angel asked, huffing as he leaned against the doorframe. 

He watched Alastor lift a hand to his chin, humming merrily like the noise downstairs wasn’t getting to supersonic levels of pissed off. 

“If I had to guess...Probably like this!” Al’s eyes glowed a dark crimson red before he sank into the floor with a jaunty wave, Cheshire grin and all, leaving Angel feeling abandoned when the screaming started warbling into something that resembled his name. 

“Son of a  _ bitch _ .”

&&

There was a great struggle to decide if he wanted to take his time getting down there to face his fate or if he wanted to just vault over the railing and get it over with. He settled for something in the middle, avoiding Vaggie’s glowing yellow eyes until he’d finally made it down. 

Charlie was fiddling with her hands, eyes darting between Vaggie and Angel like she was worried hair would fly (and that wasn’t completely unlikely, given their history) but there was a crease between her brow that branded her Upset. Angel kicked himself for giving a single shit about it. 

Husk was lazing about behind the bar reading the back of a bottle that looked suspiciously empty for what had to be ass o’ clock in the morning, barely paying any mind to Vaggie’s bi-weekly blow-up. 

Meanwhile, Vaggie was stalking towards him with her claws extended and an expression that said she had every intention of using them.

“Okay, okay, look, Vaggie, don’t get your panties in a twist.” Angel said as he approached the fuming moth demon, “It wasn't a  _ thing. _ Just lemme explain before you bite my head off!” He ducked, narrowly escaping the chair she threw his way 

“ _ ”Go out to find him,” you said.”  _ Vaggie hissed, stalking towards him with murder in her eyes.  _ “”In and out. No problem.”  _ Do you even fucking understand what this looks like?! Not only did the two of you  _ completely _ disregard what we are trying to do here, but Alastor also broadcasted the entire thing into the night! And to  _ top it all off, _ you leave blood trailing through the hotel like a couple of fucking ingrates!” 

Angel raised two of his hands and opened his mouth before promptly deciding not to press further. Charlie was serving those big, sad, puppy-dog eyes from behind Vaggie and Angel had never hated anyone at that moment quite as much as he did Alastor for making him deal with this alone. 

“We didn’t have any  _ choice _ , Vags.” Angel managed when she took a breath. “He was already outnumbered when I got there! And, ya know, you’re not gonna  _ believe _ what we found. There were hoards of em, come out of the woods. It was a full-on ambush! What was I supposed to do?” 

“Leave!” Vaggie screeched. “You had no business getting involved, you just  _ wanted _ to because you’re a selfish prick! _ ” _

“For fuck’s sake Vaggie,” Husker finally pipped up. “It’s not the end of the world.” 

Angel crossed his bottom set of arms, fiddling idly with his cuticles as he tried for nonchalant while his skin burned, “I told ya I was gonna go help him. Sometimes that includes a little bit a’ ehhh...improvisin’.”

“Angel,” Charlie cut in carefully, “Listen, they know better than to report anything heinous about Alastor, but your involvement was all over the news  _ again _ . We can’t—The Hotel won’t succeed if we don’t work together.” 

Angel snorted, turning away from her. Vaggie’s anger he could take any day; that he was used to. But the mild-mannered disappointment Charlie could wield like a weapon got to him far more than he was comfortable. There was something about her heart-shaped face sometimes, the way her little mouth would drawdown, that reminded him sorely of Molly. 

One of his hands lifted to rub at his chest as his frown twisted.  _ Fuck _ , did he miss her sometimes. She’d have his back here. She always did. No one but ma and Molly ever had the balls to stand up to Pop. And when Ma passed, Molly used that advantage to protect him the best she could. 

Ch. Well. They all knew how that ended up.

Blowing a breath out of his nose, Angel looked up to see Husk grimacing in what looked like some amount of sympathy. 

“Alright, yeah, things got a little out of hand. But I’m tellin’ ya it was gonna go bad whether I was out there or not.”

Vaggie scoffed, the sound snapping high. “Why the fuck should we believe you?” 

A growl escaped him, “I’ve been clean and sober for fucking months now, mothbrain! What d’ya want from me here? I’m trying!” 

"Well, maybe it's not enough!" 

"Vaggie!" Charlie gasped. 

Angel saw red as all four of his hands clenched into brutal fists. His claws bit into his palms with the effort it took not to wrap them all around that one tiny, insignificant windpipe. A low hiss rushed past his teeth, frustration, and anger built to breaking behind his breast when his whole body froze mid-stride.

There was a presence at his back; the same prickling down his spine as earlier. His body had grown hot with emotion, but it broke apart at the phantom touch. Replaced instead by a soft, lingering coolness that released his aching lungs long enough to take a breath. It felt like—like fingers, pressing down the length of his spine. Firm and comforting, but not quite there. 

“What did I miss?” Alastor’s velvety-tones rang through with interest, bursting the tension like a bubble. It startled Angel so intensely he actually jumped out of the way, his mind racing to catch up. “A public lashing?  _ Well _ , far be it for me to interrupt.” 

Alastor stepped up beside Angel, arms crossed behind his back. His expression was calm, bright irises catching Angel's stunned gaze from the corner. The sensations were still there, glancing over Angel’s skin, but Alastor was not touching him.  _ Would not _ touch him even if Angel asked (and he’d had a mind to ask more than once. He was dead, not blind). So what the fuck was happening?

He used to spring out from the shadows and scare the shit out of Angel all the time but since last night, it was like every breath sent a rush, a  _ knowledge  _ that Alastor was near. 

_ What the fuck do you do with something like that?  _ He thought wildly.

"What do  _ you _ want?" Vaggie asked, startling Angel again. Man, he needed to get his shit together and fast. “Don’t think I’m not coming for you next, you overgrown science project.”

“Vaggie, we talked about this. Be nice _.”  _ Charlie sighed.

Alastor’s fingers tapped merrily along the length of his microphone, that smile growing so blisteringly wide, Angel was almost sure his face was going to snap in half. "Don’t be blue flutter-bug! I only just realized I'd made a grave error in not formally thanking our dear Angel for his  _ inexhaustible  _ aid last night. Really dug me out of a bind, I’m embarrassed to say." 

Two (and a half) sets of eyes all landed on the radio demon, every one of them about ten inches wider than normal eyes were supposed to go. Angel barely managed to scrape his chin off the floor when Alastor finally turned to meet his gaze fully. The lines of his eyebrows rose up, innocent as you please, obviously waiting for Angel to take the lifeline. 

"I–I uh–" he stumbled stupidly. “I—yes?”

Listen, he was a film actor, okay? Improv wasn’t his forte.

Thankfully, the Radio Demon never left room for dead air. "Come now! Don't be shy!" Alastor cackled, elbowing Angel in the side. "Things would have gotten  _ quite _ difficult had you not arrived just in the nick of time!" 

Vaggie was staring at them with suspicion, but something in Charlie's face began to lighten at the idea. "Was... it really that bad?" She asked. 

"Oh worse than you could probably imagine. Betrayal and ambushes abound!" Al sang.  _ Far _ happier sounding than one would imagine for the situation. "I’m afraid I was just a  _ mite  _ distracted when our spider friend here arrived, and someone tried to pull one over on me while my back was turned. Nothing to worry about. All is well.” He leaned in, his hand covering his mouth as he mock-whispered in Charlie’s ear. “You won’t be seeing  _ him _ getting his scout badge, let me tell you!” 

Angel watched in horrid fascination as Charlie’s shoulders relaxed and her expression evened out.  _ Smooth-talking asshole. _ Even Vaggie’s ire was toning down to mild irritation. She still didn’t trust Al as far as she could throw him but when Charlie was calm, Vaggie was calm. Angel didn’t understand how he did it. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Vaggie held up her hands. “So you’re telling us that Angel, what, saved you?” 

_ “See? I fuckin told ya so.” _ Angel said at the same time Alastor snorted.  _ “Well, let’s not get too excited.” _ Angel glared at him, but couldn’t bother to put much malice behind it. The guy had just saved his ass after all. 

“Do you know what this means?!” Charlie asked, her eyes alight and her smile bearing down on them all with deadly force. “The Hotel  _ is _ having a good influence on him!” 

“Hun, I don’t know if we can equate murder in the name of someone else to be much different than regular murder.” Vaggie cut in, cautious to Charlie’s enthusiasm. 

“Of course we can! Selflessness is a holy trait!” 

“Charlie…” 

And just like that, the girls were lost in their own conversation. Which suited Angel fine because he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off Alastor long enough to participate. What was this guy's  _ game? _

It was crazy to think that had it not been for last night Angel may have never seen this side of him. Who knew that underneath those blood-covered jazz hands and wicked smile was apparently a man who knew what it meant to give back? Angel never expected him to be grateful, or even  _ kind,  _ or—

Vaggie’s growling stopped suddenly and that, more than anything else, scared the ever-living fuck out of him. 

“Alright, Charlie. Fine. I won’t kill him.” Vaggie said, turning around to face him fully in such a mechanical, doll-like fashion that he actually took a few steps back. “ But I reserve the right to dole out his punishment.”

“Careful,  _ bitch _ ,” Angel warned, eyes flitting to Charlie who, terrifyingly enough, looked just as freaked out as he was. Instinct kept his feet moving backward as Vaggie approached him. “If you wreck this face I’m breaking every bone in your tiny little body.”

“Aw, Angel, I’m not gonna hurt you.” Vaggie’s face darkened, the unmarred side of her face falling behind a curtain of colorless hair until all he could look at was the maddening X of her bad eye: “I’m just gonna make you _ suffer _ .” 

“Oh, ho, ho,  _ bring it on.” _

* * *

  
  
  


Well, that was one way to get rid of a problem, Alastor supposed. 

Though, whether or not Angel was going to actively accept his punishment was still yet to be seen, it appeared the spider wasn’t going to be stepping foot outside the hotel for...awhile.

Alastor did not need to watch Angel as he stormed off in a huff, but he could count every step that took him away. When he was out of his line of sight, Alastor  _ pulled  _ into himself, wrenching his shadow back to his side from where it had attempted to follow. Its resistance made the edges of his mouth curl, but he suffered through Charlie rattling off conditions until she was satisfied: 

“Alastor, are you  _ sure _ you took care of everything?” Charlie asked, all large, round eyes and earnestness. “It sounded like it got pretty intense out there. What if someone comes back to attack the hotel? We’re barely standing as it is! I have  _ tours _ planned!” 

There was little else to do but nod along with her. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing. I’m a man of my word, after all! You won’t be seeing hide nor hair of any of those little ingrates. Just put it out of your mind.” he laughed, waving his hand dismissively. 

He could tell she  _ wanted  _ to believe him, but the little V her eyebrows made as she worried her bottom lip told a different story. An honorable trait, to be able to tell when someone wasn’t telling the whole truth, but at this juncture, it was more an irritation. 

Placing a hand on her shoulder, he tried his best to soften his expression into something less terrifying. He could feel the buzzing between his ears. “This  _ is _ Hell, Charlie dear, and you’re doing something wayyy outside anything we’ve ever seen before. Someone was bound to come trying to  _ talk _ you all out of it.” 

“I—” She cut herself off, pursing her lips. “I didn’t...Do you think I’m putting them in danger with all this?” 

“No one is in danger,” He assured her. “Well, at least not to a point I can’t handle.” That brought a smile to her face. 

“ _ Is _ there a point you can’t handle?” 

Alastor threw his head back and laughed. “Barring your very dear old dad himself...You probably don’t want to find out.” He patted her head. “Put it out of your mind and focus on bringing in some new souls to tort— _ save. _ We aren’t getting any younger!” 

“Yeah...you’re right,” Charlie said, her back straightening. “Okay. It’s time to really double down on our efforts. The TV thing didn’t work out, obviously, but maybe an event of some kind...something local? Am I not getting out enough with my own people? What do you think?” 

“I think that’s exactly the right spirit!” he said easily, hoping to drown out what was surely the beginning of a very entertaining and doomed to fail scenario that he simply did not have time for at the moment. “You know, I hear Husker has been  _ dying  _ to get more involved with the Hotel’s activities. Why don’t you go and put your adorable little heads together and I’ll make sure Niffty gets down here to get the lobby back ship-shape!” 

Thankfully, Charlie’s eyes were already sparkling with a slew of new ideas. She launched herself over to Husker’s bar, leaning over so far her feet were lifting off the ground as she relayed them to him. Husker was either too shocked to speak or too kind, but simply sat and blinked blearily up at her from the floor. 

Alastor sighed, then stepped back into the shadows. The game was one thing, but the  _ upkeep _ . That could be tedious.

He wasn’t even sure what he was doing down here in the first place. Alastor had had full intention of leaving Angel to deal with the fall-out on his own. It wasn’t  _ his _ problem, after all, and keeping the spider out of his way would only make figuring out their little pest problem all the easier. 

Of course, Alastor hadn’t slept. Never really found much of a need to most nights even though he could, but last night almost felt like something of a fever dream. Too many unconnected pieces, too many oddities that wouldn’t reveal themselves. And a feeling, a  _ knowledge _ of another being, that he didn’t  _ want.  _

The shade hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, but Alastor knew by now how to read between the lines. A connection had been formed, somehow, due to Angel’s not-so-unformidable force of will and his own moment of vulnerability.

Alastor’s shoulders tensed. The idea that anyone would have that much access to _ him _ made him long for something to break apart slowly. Preferably something that liked to scream. 

He knew Angel had sensed him the moment he’d appeared, and Alastor could now still feel him muddling around in his room; sensing without expending any energy each pulse of Angel’s displeasure, his confusion, his worry.

Those emotions were what had drawn Alastor from his rooms in the first place. Into an argument that he’d intended to avoid. They crept in on him, scraping against his senses like a dull knife that hadn’t ceased until he’d found himself shoulder to shoulder with Angel again.

The entire thing hadn’t served him, that was the lunacy of it all. He was not here to bring comfort, he was here to be  _ entertained _ . 

So Alastor had made sure that the thrum of contentment that came when Angel appeared soothed by his presence had been subsequently squashed. 

Angel needed to be kept at bay. As surprised (and thrilled, really) as he had been to find that Angel’s love of the fight was as deeply entrenched as his own; that he was graceful chaos turned flesh despite his loud and vulgar mouth— Alastor worked alone. 

Connections could be starved, and this, having been little more than a freak accident, wouldn’t survive if he didn’t cultivate it. And he wouldn’t. 

The sound of tiny feet attempting to break the sound barrier drew him from his thoughts as Niffty met him in one of the empty corridors. _ Right on time as always. _

“The Angel Issue” aside, the circumstances that led them to last night’s endeavor were proving too out of place to ignore. Had it just been Alastor they were after, he might not have even bothered. It wouldn’t have been the first time someone had attempted to unseat him, but the blades and the low-level demons who were wielding them came off too bizarre even for him. 

Niffty was the only one within his inner circle that could weave in and out of places quickly and undetected. Sending her was almost as efficient as sending his own shadow. If  _ he  _ went skulking around looking for answers it may draw attention he didn't need, and he wanted to avoid too much trouble until he knew for sure. 

“Why, hello there, Niffty darling! How’d it go?” He asked, kneeling down to her eye level to keep their voices from raising louder than necessary. “Were you able to get what I asked for?”

On any other occasion, Nifty would have already been baring her razor teeth and relaying her success. She was one of his best, truly. But instead of triumph, her little face was pinched and uneasy. Turned in a frown as she reached into her unknown hiding place to give the carefully wrapped weapons back to him.

“I’m sorry Alastor, but none of the usual channels were able to make sense of them. It’s like the sigils are masked, or twisted into code. We can’t find their Names or any indication of who they’re connected to.”

That drew his eyebrow up in interest. Well, what do you know? A bonafide mystery. “Is that so? Nothing at all? No symbols, even?” 

Niffty shook her head, “Nothing. It’s marked but no one can read it. It’s not like anything we’ve seen before. It’s so strange that they were abandoned down here...the Archangel’s are so prim and proper, even looking at one of these sideways usually gains someone a first-class trip to nothingness in the next Purge.” 

That _ was  _ true. Archangel’s did not simply manufacture weaponry, they were assigned to them at creation. A lost Holy weapon wasn’t out of the ordinary, but the Angel in question not immediately bearing down to retrieve it certainly was. “And you’ve checked with everyone? Malon? Barbessa? I’m sure she’s forgiven me for that little...relic mix-up by now.”

It had been a learning experience as a young demon to not take keepsakes from ancient and protected shores. Water spirits were delightfully ambiguous at best and absolutely unrelenting at worst. He had a whole set of scars that still tightened painfully at the smell of brine.

“Trust me,” Nifty deadpanned, “She hasn’t. But I  _ did  _ talk to everyone.” Niffty insisted, then paused. “I mean, everyone except… _ her _ .” She perked back up, eyeing him with an excitable fervor, “ I-I will if you want me to! If she knows  _ you _ sent me, maybe—” 

Alastor shushed her with a wave of his hand. He was quite fond of her. So willing to please. So hungry for bloodshed."Well, I was hoping to avoid that route.” He shrugged, “ But c'est la vie! I’ll pay Sabine a visit myself. Now, I've one more favor to ask of you if you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Of course!” She chirped, visually relieved. He couldn’t blame her. “What is it? Is it violent? Ooooh, do I get to use my new pretties?” 

“That’s my girl! Always ready for a good time!” He laughed, spinning his microphone between his fingers. “Unfortunately, this may not be as much fun as that, but I’ll be sure you are given an ample specimen to sharpen your blades on. I just need you to do your best to keep an eye on Charlie for me.”

“Charlie?” She asked, fingers folding together tightly. “Is she alright? Is someone after her?  _ Is it a man?” _

“I don’t know yet,” Alastor admitted, keeping his tone as soothing as he was able. The last thing they wanted was Niffty going on a tiny but deadly rampage. At least, not until he was back to see it. “It’s just a precaution until I can figure this out.”

Niffty let out a tiny squeak of alarm but nodded in affirmation. “Ab-so-lutely! You can count on me, Alastor!” 

He reached out to press lightly on the tip of her nose. “I expect nothing less.” 

  
  


&&&

  
  


_ Take him.  _

Alastor closed his eyes. Took a breath. Tried to remember it was impossible to kill an extension of himself. Days like this made it difficult. 

“ _ Why _ in the world would I do that?” Alastor huffed as he studied the decayed carcass of a salamander in one of the jars he pulled from his cabinets. He set it aside, rolling up his sleeves before going back in. “I thought you wanted him to live?”

**_We_ ** _ want him to live,  _ sighed the Shade. From the corner of his eye, Alastor could see it slithering along the wall and up to the ceiling in luxurious strokes.

“Don’t go putting words in my mouth,” He replied, the threat guilding his tongue despite the fact they both knew there was little to be done about it. Alastor had never had siblings. Or children. But if it was anything like  _ this _ he couldn’t help but be glad he hadn’t had to live through that particular nonsense. “Sabine would eat him alive if we did. I may be a fan of her work, but I’m not sure that would be conducive to our visit. Ah, yes! There you are, little guy.” 

The jar was more the size of a small fishbowl, capped with cork and snakeskin that miraculously didn’t turn to dust when he ran his fingers over it. In the bottom lie a pile of bones nestled in sweetgrass, an avian head peering sightlessly from the top. His shadow hummed as it flew over his shoulder to catch a better look. 

_ Last one.  _ It said.  _ No more for a long time. _

Alastor turned the jar around in his hands, lips thinning at the implication behind those words. 

“I know.” 

Regardless of his personal preference on the matter, he needed  _ her _ insight. Because if his hunch was correct, things were about to get a little hairy. Something strange was going on, and he intended to find out what it was. 

Alastor tapped the glass twice and the bones began to rustle and jump. They cracked as they put themselves back together; clawed feet to skinny legs, then the torso and wing bones, scraping at the edges of the glass until finally, the head found its home. Its fleshless eyesockets bore into Alastor’s when the little creature turned its head and it let out a perturbed shriek. 

“Hello there,” He said softly, “I need to speak with your Mother. What do you say you show us where she’s hiding this time?” 

The owl tittered, appearing to somehow glare at him as it stretched and ruffled feathers that were no longer there. It stared through him for a few moments before tilting its head in ascent. 

Satisfied, Alastor snapped his fingers, and the binding released from the jar with a gentle popping noise. Claws scrabbled at the edge, curling around the sides of the bowl until the creature was out. It waved its head in a circle questioningly and Al nodded. 

“Let’s get this show on the road!” Each of Sabine’s wards traveled differently depending on its origin, and Alastor could rightly admit that he had utilized this one last in part due to the fact that he did not favor having his feet too far off the ground when he wasn’t in control of what kept him up there. 

This was most likely going to be...uncomfortable. 

He put the bowl down and offered his ungloved hand to the owl, letting it climb into his open palm. It leaned its head down, nibbling gently into the curve of his wrist where his veins lie with its brutal beak. 

Alastor did not move. It scrapped against him, pressing just enough to feel the skin start to split and he sighed.

It had been a very long time since he’d seen his own blood, and it was always rather jarring to remember that it wasn’t red, like the humans, or black like the other demons, but some shade of blue. It painted the tip of the dead owl’s beak as it reared back with the bones of its once great wings expanded. Alastor closed his eyes, anticipating the rush of wind and the tug behind his sternum that always belied the transport. 

The tug came, his body began to lift, weightless as it moved into another realm that only the traveler spirits had access to…

And then he dropped like a stone. 

Alastor’s eyes shot open from where he lay crumpled on the ground, looking up into the curious tilted heads of both owl and shadow. He cursed as he sat up, rattled at both the indignity and the failure of the ritual. His dials shifted behind his eyes for a moment before he turned to glare at them both. 

“ ** _Well_**?” 

The traveler looked to the shade, who swirled back and forth in Alastor’s line of sight with the same smile it always carried, but somehow this one felt smug as it motioned down to his feet. 

At the juncture where Alastor and his wraith met, the shadow stretched across the floor in a thin line, leading across the room and disappearing through the far wall. 

In the direction of Angel’s rooms. 

“You’re joking,” He growled, fingers curling into fists that he  _ barely _ resisted the urge to slam down like a toddler. No.  _ No.  _ This was  _ ridiculous.  _

The shadow ignored his turmoil and hummed:  **_Take him._ **

Alastor clenched his jaw so hard something cracked. 

_ “Fine _ .” 

* * *

  
  


_ House arrest.  _ Who did that loud-mouth wannabe-blade-runner bitch think she was? He wasn’t going under fucking  _ house arrest.  _

No, in fact, he had a slew of appointments across town and the legs of a goddamn  _ jumping spider _ . Angel wasn’t about to sit here, in his room, grounded like a teenager, because he  _ helped _ someone. Did he get to have some fun while doing it? Yeah, sure, but that still didn’t mean he should be punished for it. Those bitches might pay his bills for now but Angel had standards and he wasn’t beholden to any-fucking-body.

“Such bullshit,” Angel snarled, snatching up his phone to call for a cab. He’d have to have them park a little ways down the hill, but it’s not like Vaggie or Charlie would be patrolling the grounds or anything. 

Ehhh, at least he hoped not. 

Something tapped against his window, almost shaking him out of his designer boots. He stood up from his bed, turning slowly only to barely stifle a scream at the phantom grin peering between the curtains of his balcony door. 

He had a pistol in his hand and was across the room with his back to the wall in a few seconds, shoulders tense and ready. It started alternating between tapping at the glass and scratching gently. Angel gritted his teeth, turned around, and kicked the double doors wide open. 

“ _ Alright  _ ya sonofabitch, you think you can just—” he cut himself off, blinking at the now-familiar shaped wraith that was watching him curiously. “Oh. It’s you.” Angel lowered his weapon, “What the hell are you doing here, ghosty?” 

The wraith’s shoulders shook like it was chuckling, hovering just off the edge of the balcony. It looked terribly like Al up close; Deer-like ears and big, winding grin, all the features darkened to the color of smoke except for the eyes and mouth. The sounds emitting from it were soft, clicks and trills like it didn't bother much with English, and Angel found himself relaxing. 

He reached out without thinking, brushing against the smoke-like frame, and gasped at how  _ warm _ it was. Weren’t things like that supposed to freeze you out?

_ Come with,  _ it said. Angel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Uhhh listen here, shadow man. Do you think I’ve stuck around this long by following anyone who asked? You’re gonna have to tell me what’s happenin’ if you expect me to do anythin’. Where’s Al, for starters?” 

A great sigh erupted from the bright blue grin. It waved one hand to motion Angel closer, hovering still over the edge of the balcony and pointed down below. 

Carefully, Angel walked over to the edge, resting his hands on the railing, and leaned down far enough to see Alastor grinning at him from the grounds. His hands were resting behind his back casually, but there was an impatient tightness at the edge of his smile and he raised his eyebrow expectantly like Angel was  _ late  _ to something.

Angel made a face at him and almost yelled down to the Radio Demon before catching himself. The last thing he wanted was to accidentally alert the others to whatever the fuck was going on. 

Shame, really, he had a whole line about Romeo and Juliet that he was going to have to save for later. He was also still really fuckin’ annoyed that Al left him to deal with Vaggie and Charlie alone, and even more annoyed that he still hadn’t figured out how to feel when he ended up coming back. 

The guy was a pompous asshole, but Angel was already curious, and  _ damn _ if that wasn’t one of his worst traits. 

“Motherfucker has some explainin’ to do that’s for sure,” Angel muttered. The shadow flew around him in a circle before stopping in front of him, head tilting in question again. Angel pursed his lips. What was this thing, anyway? Just some extension of Al’s power? It was...kinda cute. For a ghost. Shadow. Shade? Whatever it was, it definitely didn’t give off the same asshole vibe as its carrier. Maybe Al had come to his senses and actually wanted his help? 

Psh, there was more of a chance of him sprouting big, fluffy wings and flying out of here. But there was really only one way to find out. 

"Fine, okay." Angel shrugged, "It's better than sitting around this dump anyway. I mean, I was gonna leave anyway, but at least this should be interesting." 

_ Yes?  _

He turned to find the shadow grinning from ear to ear and very close to his face. Angel chuckled nervously, "Yeah, yeah, alright already. Just let me get–" 

The ground dropped out from under his feet, and the scream that ripped out of him was covered by what felt like a hollow hand. He scrambled against it at first, but as the air rushed from his lungs he had no choice but to cling to the shadowy arms as they fell for what felt like forever.

When he opened them he was standing in the courtyard, dizzy as a whirly-bird, with a much more solid hand on his shoulder. 

The touch was soft but firm enough to hold him up on shaky legs. Those deep red eyes scoured over his face so quickly Angel thought he might have imagined it before narrowing dangerously at something over Angel's left shoulder. 

In the next breath, Alastor was a comfortable distance away and looking like he'd never touched him. 

"My, my! That was quite a spectacle. Are you alright?" 

"Wha—Yeah– you....did you fuckin' warp me again?" He scrunched his nose, trying to clear away the weird fog, “Feels different than last time.”

Alastor hesitated, but maybe that was Angel’s spotty vision. "I...yes. So sorry about that. BUT! I have quite an interesting proposition for you if that soothes that ruffled fur of yours." 

That piqued Angel's interest. "Oh yeah?" 

“It turns out there  _ is _ something odd about the holy weapons we found.” Alastor grinned. “And there’s only one person in the realms who can tell us why. I want you to come with me.” 

“So  _ now _ ya want me involved.” Angel huffed, crossing both sets of arms. “You sure were singing a different song this morning, why the change of heart?” 

Alastor shrugged, “Name of the game, pally-o. Now! I’m afraid we only have a tiiiiny window of opportunity here, and I’m going to need an answer.” He left one arm behind his back, holding his microphone to peer over his shoulder at Angel, and leaned forward to offer the other. “I think you’re just going to have to trust me.” 

Angel blanched, staring at the hand suspiciously for any hint of a grin. “Ya know if we get into any more fights Charlie might actually find it in herself to kill us, right?”

“She doesn’t have to know.” 

“Didja forget your own MO already, mister  _ Radio _ Demon? Pretty sure your broadcasts reach the pearly gates the way you go about it.” 

Al rolled his eyes, fingers clenching and unclenching before Angel. “Then I guess I won’t be broadcasting when you’re with me, will I?” 

Alright. So that wasn't an answer he’d expected. 

“Really? You’d do that?” Did he really want Angel to come that badly? What kind of trouble had they gotten themselves into? He narrowed his eyes. “Are you a clone or something?”

“Angel,” Alastor’s voice rumbled. “Now or never.” 

A slow smirk spread across Angel’s lips. He ran a hand through his hair, sidling up into Alastor’s space and sliding his hand into the one offered. “Aw sweetheart, if you wanted to touch me this badly all you had to do was say so.” 

Static screeched in ear-splitting waves but Angel’s grin merely grew. Alastor may have been one of the scariest motherfucker’s to disgrace Hell, but Angel had his own bag of tricks. And it was satisfying as fuck to know he could fluster this particular Overlord. 

Angel hissed as his hand was gripped painfully and Alastor’s smile grew tight once more. “Marvelous.” He said, voice dipping into something like a growl that sent an uncomfortable chill up the back of Angel’s neck. “Let’s hope you’re as tough as you think you are.” 

Something tittered and screeched as it crawled up Alastor’s back and up onto his shoulder. It was small, white, boney, and its beak was covered in something that suspiciously looked like blood, 

“What the fuck is that?!” Angel yelped as it slid down Alastors' arm to perch on their joined hands. Its head moved in rapid tilts, studying the flesh under its claws. Angel noticed that Alastor’s wrist was still dripping. Oh  _ hell no.  _ Alastor gripped his fingers harshly when Angel went to pull away. His smile was tinged with dark amusement. “Stay still. And please,” The creature turned its big, black, soulless eyes on Angel and he froze, “don't scream. ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took so long. The last month has been—horrible. But I apologize all the same. 
> 
> Not to mention this chapter drove me absolutely batty. I wanted to scrap it because it wasn't exciting enough but the writer in me knows we need the setup. >_> But! I'm so excited to get to chapter four that it's already halfway done, so I hope that makes up for, well, everything!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry. This chapter was hell on earth in itself but holidays and literally 3/4 of my entire family getting sick drained basically any energy I had to write. But here we are, pressing through! I won't keep you with any more excuses.

_Hickory, oak, pine, and weed_

_Bury my heart underneath these trees_

_And when a southern wind comes to raise my soul_

_Spread my spirit like a flock of crows_

_Cuz I loved ya for too long_

_I loved ya for too long_

_I loved ya for too long..._

_I Will Never Die - Delta Rae_

  
  


Angel did, in fact, scream.

_Loudly._

_“Oh fuck I think I’m gonna be sick.”_

_“You won’t.”_

_“I’m_ **_gonna_ ** _you, twisted bastard! All over your fancy fuckin’ coat and your stupid—FUCK!”_

It was entirely too easy for Alastor to start questioning how he had come to this point. 

Surprising no one, Angel had proven himself a clinger, and Alastor was eternally grateful for the fact that sensation did not feel the same in the middle realms. Besides the vague assumption of body weight, his mind did not have to process the way Angel curled against his back and shrieked into his ear.

If there was a need, a desire, or an ability to take a breath right now, he’d be suffocating in the spider’s grip. If it were any other time, Angel would be losing limbs. He was just lucky Alastor hated using Sabine’s travelers _more_. 

There was no warning when they reached their destination. Just a blink between them floating in the aether and dropping to the ground; whole and body. 

Alastor landed on his feet, back straight and sure smile in place, because there wasn’t a chance in Hell he was letting Angeldust of all creatures see him anything less than composed.

Angel had no such qualms.“Unholy mother _fuck_ .” He gasped, back flattened on the ground. His chest rose and fell like they’d run here, beads of sweat now forming where they had not been able to before. “What—What _the hell was that?”_

"An unfortunate necessity,” Alastor replied. Angel’s pupils were tiny pinpricks as he breathed into the night air, and Alastor allowed him a few moments to let him catch his rhythm. Mostly because he was still orienting himself. “I’ll admit, it’s not my favorite way to get around. Certainly not as stylish. No _flair._ ” 

“Never again. _Never._ I don’t care what you have to do to me, we are _not_ taking that thing back..” Angel grumbled, flinging his arms back onto the ground like he could rid himself of the gooseflesh that had crept up them. “Scary dark spaces don’t seem so bad compared to _that._ If I’m choosin, I like our way better.”

Alastor’s eyes flicked down to look at him at the words “ _our way”_ but Angel was already wrenching himself up. He furrowed his brow questioningly for a moment before his gaze flitted back to their surroundings. 

They weren’t completely out of the city yet, but it was a near thing. The last dredges of civilization lay scattered miles apart from each other; dilapidated pinpricks in a sparse valley. Behind them lie the lights, the fading buzz of the city at large. Sabine never had much patience for the pattern of modern society. But it was strange to find that there wasn’t a soul on the outskirts. Living, dead, or otherwise. 

“So where the Hell is this broad you needed to talk to,” Angel asked as he finally stood up next to him. Two of his hands were resting on his hips as he looked back and forth between the city and the outer landscape. It stretched into the desert to the east, bleeding into a thickly wooded forest to the west. 

“Well, Angel, I’m so very glad you asked!” Alastor cupped one hand around his mouth, leaning just close enough for the spider to blink at him in question. “I…” He held his silence for a beat. Two. ”have NO idea!”

That was definitely not what his companion had wanted to hear. 

“Are you _kiddin’ me?!_ What the fuck are we doing out here, playing hide and seek?!” Angel waved his arms as if to encompass the apparent dead end. “You didn’t think to mention this before you and your zombie bird before you nabbed me?” 

Alastor rolled his eyes. “My _apologies_ hotshot, would you like to go back to the hotel? I’m sure your online following is sorely missing you.” 

“Don’t get sassy with me you little strawberry bastard.” Angel snapped, incredulous. “You’re the one who came and got _me,_ remember?” 

"If you weren’t the least bit curious you wouldn’t have come. Maybe I mistook you for a man who wanted to see his endeavors through." 

Angel bent at the waist, lips curling lasciviously(surely because he knew how much Alastor hated it). "Don't question my follow-through, _babe_ , or I'll give you something you sure as shit won’t be able to handle."

It was a curse of nature that he had to look _up_ at Angel to meet his gaze, but he bore his own teeth in response. There was an insult waiting on his tongue, biting into the flesh when he clenched his jaw around it. His power curved around him, under his skin, in the bones of his teeth, begging to let his turmoil cure itself with the taste of flesh. His shadow flit behind him, an invisible breath on his neck. 

Unfortunately, they had other things to do. 

"Come now,” he said instead. “Just have a little patience! If things go as planned we’ll be in and outta here before anyone notices you’re gone." Shrugging with far more nonchalance than he was feeling, Alastor’s attention was drawn to the owl as it arced gracefully over their heads. It landed on the rickety hood of a broken-down truck not far from them, skinless head twisting and cracking on the bones of its neck. It flicked its head in the direction of a cluster of willow trees, blending almost entirely into the forest but for the sliver of strangeness that seemed to move through them like a fog. 

“So, you’re just gonna keep me in the dark?” Angel wrinkled his nose childishly, misaligned with the perceptive glint in his eyes as he looked into the trees. He paused with his lips twisted and brows furrowed mightily, obviously trying to come to a decision.

“You’re welcome to leave.” Alastor lied. The image of Angel being bodily dragged across the dirt by an unseen force wasn’t altogether terrible. Far more entertaining than listening to him complain _._

“What, and deprive you of all _this_ when you worked so hard to get me here?” Angel smirked, gesturing down the length of his body with two arms. “Fat chance, Smiles—Hey!” 

Alastor’s dials screeched from between his clenched teeth as he walked away. He knew Angel would follow him, compelled or not. The fingers of his right hand curled into a tight fist around the tendrils of shadow that were creeping up his sides. It wasn’t usual that Alastor had his feathers ruffled, so to speak. 

But oh, he was going to make _someone_ pay for this. 

  
  
  


-&&-&&-&&-

  
  
  


The first step from the desert of nothingness that surrounded their city and into the line of trees left Alastor standing smack dab in the middle of a pile of wet, stinking mud. 

Boy, oh boy, today was his lucky day indeed. 

It was only a few seconds before Alastor recognized where they were, or at least, the place it was meant to mimic. One deep inhale had the thick, reedy scent of moss and slow-moving water bringing back memories he’d long since left behind, spiraling to the surface with startling clarity. Beyond the water lie more thin, twisted trees that rose up from the bog, reaching into a seemingly endless red sky. There were ripples in the water, fish, likely, or something hunting for them. Birds that tittered and cooed loudly from their branches before swooping down to skid against the surface. 

Clear into the distance where the river curved, the trees bowed over an odd dark spot that faded in and out of his vision if he tried to focus on it too clearly. A glance up at their guide proved that that was most likely their destination. It was going to be a _walk._

“Oh, for fucks sake,” Angel groaned with each squelching step. “I didn’t fucking dress for this, Al, _come on_.” 

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Alastor chuckled. “Besides, I wouldn’t have been able to warn you one way or another. The terrain changes each time.” 

He heard Angel curse again, the unattractive burp and slide of his foot wrenching out of the mud. “What the hell does that even mean? Who is this lady?” he asked, pulling himself along as best he could. He glared when Alastor passed him easily. “What kind of friends do you have that live in the middle of a sub-realm swamp?” 

“Bayou.” Alastor corrected simply. “And only the one.” He narrowed his eyes at the edge of the water and the beady eyes looking up at them from the dark water. “An individual who survives by keeping herself faaar under the radar.” 

“Whatever,” Angel sniffed, disgust clouding his features. His lips curled up over his teeth when something swam past his leg. “Let’s just get this the fuck over with then. C’mon and do your teleport thing.” 

“Sorry, no can do.” He chirped, taking small, quick steps until he reached firm ground. It was true, but it also had the rather joyful effect of irritating his companion.

“Why?” Angel snapped. 

Hopping up onto the edge of a wet, grassy marsh, Alastor leaned against the head of his microphone as he watched Angel continue to struggle his way out through the reeds. “It would be _rude_. This isn’t our domain. Could alert someone —or something—that feels like giving chase. Did you not understand what I meant by “under the radar”? All power has a signature. Even yours. Might as well trail in mud on someone’s clean carpet.” 

“Signatures. _Domains._ Ugh. This is a fucking nightmare.” Angel whined, frustrated when he finally got one leg out only for the other one to stick. The mud was either encroaching higher on the bank or Angel had managed to wander into a sinking pit. After a few more fruitless, struggling attempts Angel sighed and reached out a hand to him, asking with the gesture. His breath rushed out of his mouth loudly, blowing up the fringe of his hair off his eyes. “Help?” 

Alastor rose a brow at him. 

“Fuck. _Please?_ ”

Alastor's smile turned smug. “I hope this teaches you that manners _are_ everything, my friend.” He held his tongue about the set of beady black eyes trailing slowly behind Angel in the water. Oh, decisions, decisions. 

“Sabine must be feeling sentimental.” Alastor mused aloud, not so much reaching out a hand as holding it upwards for Angel to reach for.

“Seriously, what’s with all the mystery, huh? Is she your hidden concubine or somethin’?” Angel asked, straining to reach him. Alastor’s eyes flitted behind him as the gator’s eyes sunk back under the water; a move that usually preceded a deadly strike. 

“ _No_ .” He replied, unable to stop the disgust in his tone. There were just certain things even _he_ was not capable of. Angel’s hand finally grasped onto his own, another wrapping around Alastor’s wrist for leverage, apparently trusting that he was strong enough to hold both their weight. 

Alastor took a few precious seconds to scowl at their joint hands. The last few days had been the most amount of actual touching he’d had bothered to withstand, well, ever. It was ceaselessly irritating that he couldn’t just get rid of the reason _why._

When Angel managed one of his legs up on the bank, the water went stark still; silent. A predator and its unknowing prey, locked in the strings of fate. Alastor caught the shift of Angel's gaze away from his face, fascinated for a moment at the work of nature happening before him while tugging Angel up entirely.

“If you must know,” Alastor continued, eyes never leaving the water. “I was born here. Well, _near_ here. But there are many fond memories.” He sighed wistfully. “You can lose anyone you want in a bayou.”

Angel blanched, opening his mouth to respond when a sharp movement cut him off.

Jaws flashed in a series of teeth and flying swamp water so fast it was hard to take note of what came from where. The creature near lept from its hiding place and Alastor caught a glimpse of thick, wet hide the color of moss before Angel’s arm shot up quick as anything and unloaded three shots into the soft tissue of the creature's mouth. It collapsed in a sluggish pile of flesh, teeth scraping Angel’s skin as it fell. The birds fell quiet.

All along Angel’s eyes had never left Alastor’s face. For all the whining and bluster he displayed, the look he was giving him now was undecipherable. There was blood in his hair and in the corner of his blackened eye, squinting at Alastor through the gore.

“Grew up here huh,” Angel said, wiping a run of blood off of his cheek. "Yeah, _totally_ woulda never saw that comin'.”

A current ran from the base of Alastor’s spine, something sharp and not entirely unpleasant. He smiled brightly, forcing it down (down down) until nothing was left. Patting Angel’s blood-soaked face twice, he turned and began to walk along the edge of the bank, following the curious hoots of the Traveler.

Sometimes, it seemed, Alastor did enjoy surprises. 

  
  


-&&&-&&&-&&&-

  
  


The trek was proving far more troublesome than Alastor imagined it should have been, and Angel, who hadn’t mentioned anything more about the incident with the gator, had decided that his punishment was to be brought forth in the form of him Never. Shutting. Up. 

“Ya know, for someone who’s known for his words, you sure are quiet.” 

“This may come as a surprise to you, but there are times where it proves useful to keep one's mouth shut.” 

“You could at least tell me what’s going on since we’re already out here and I’m getting swamp guts all over my Gucci boots.” 

“Perhaps I wanted to feed you to the abyss.” 

“Ugh. Will you stop deflecting before I show you all kinds of ways that stick of yours can hurt? _Fuck_ are you irritating.” 

“Are you threatening me?” 

“Why do you sound so excited about that?” A sigh. “Al, I know you found something. Just tell me what it is so I can at least know what the fuck we’re lookin’ at. I can hold my own here, but I don’t like going in blind.” 

Alastor stopped and closed his eyes. Alright. Fine. If it would give him a _moment_ of peace: “I didn’t find _anything_ . That’s why we need Sabine. You’ll probably enjoy her. Bit longer in the tooth than me doesn’t have a particular allegiance one way or the next. She'll be discreet as well, _and_ she’s got a finger in every pie in the underground." The woman certainly made sure of _that._

Angel made a curious sound. “Huh. ‘N here I thought you knew everything.” 

Alastor tsked at him. “Whoever our little friends out there were, they got their hands on something not...hmm... _natural_. The weapons are a bit of a delightful mystery. Angelic in nature but not attached to an angel. There are only a few ways one can go about imbuing something with Holy power. It’s a very particular and coveted process. Otherwise, we’d all just be running around down here chopping off heads at will. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” He chuckled to himself, but it died when he turned to see Angel’s expression shift into confusion. 

“Right, uh, and that is...bad."

Alastor barely resisted pinching the bridge of his nose. _Idiot._

"It could mean anything or nothing. Maybe the weapons were spelled to _feel_ Angelic to intimidate lesser demons. Maybe there's a rogue angel out there who doesn't want to be bound by the yearly purge. Either way, how would you like that wandering into your club?" He raised an eyebrow, forced his lips to sharpen in a grin. "Or the hotel for that matter?" 

That appeared to get them somewhere. "Shit." Angel hissed, rubbing at his jaw. "Do you think they'd try to come after Charlie?" 

Alastor tilted from side to side, contemplating. "Who knows! They’d have to be truly stupid or desperate, considering her status, and they've already proven they wouldn't be any fun to play with, so there's no point in entertaining their delusion. Sabine can narrow down a few possibilities. She's the only one who can tell where this particular thingamajig came from. The _why_ is going to be the difference between a rare steak dinner and an all-you-can-eat-buffet!”

“Aaaand here we are with the cannibal jokes.” Angel scrunched up his nose. “Fantastic. Glad to be here.” He folded both sets of arms and exhaled. "Okay, not to sound like I don't enjoy our quality time or nothin' but what does this have to do with me? Wouldn't it have been easier on your own? You don't exactly work well with others, pal." 

Alastor paused mid-step, blinking in surprise. He didn’t realize Angel had the time or perception to pay any kind of attention to his habits. 

Maybe not as stupid as he looked after all.

Thankfully, a screech drew their attention away from each other and back to the mottled green skyline. The bony owl arced gracefully in the air again before landing on the branch of an old bald cypress tree, curving over the edges of a shack that certainly hadn’t been there moments before. It fluttered in and out of sight again like a grainy picture show until the owl let out a series of trills, stilling it with a song. 

Angel whistled as they stepped up to the door, balancing as the dock shuddered and shifted sideways for a moment. “This is some next-level magical extra-ness right here. Gotta say, I do love me a dramatic bitch." 

A snort escaped him. "I do appreciate her sense of intrigue." 

They balanced their way on the rickety dock, avoiding sharp movements as neither of them wanted to end up wrestling with whatever else was lurking underneath. The shack, because that is really all it could be equated to, looked unlived in entirely. It stood cradled under thick, green trees that looked as if they were moments away from swallowing the structure completely. From this angle, looking back out over the water, it almost reminded him of sweet, long-lost summers. If it wasn’t for the hellish red, green, and black tone to everything. 

As they crept close, Alastor’s eyes swept over the shutters barely hanging from rusty hinges. Plantlife crept up from the dock and into the grains of the wood until they split apart. There wasn’t a whiff of movement that could be detected from the outside. He could only vaguely sense the thrum of power dampened down as it was by her barriers. It didn’t deter him. He knew very well there wasn’t a soul who could find Sabine Berthelot if she did not want to be found.

Angel, who had stayed mysteriously quiet up until that moment, made another one of his curious sounds, reaching out to grip the door handle that looked like it was being held up by sheer force of will as opposed to any actual architecture. Alastor deftly slapped it aside, sliding between the spider demon and the door. 

“Hey!” Angel snapped. “What gives?”

He held his staff up like a barrier. “I think we need to go over a few ground rules,” Alastor said, smiled beatifically when Angel sputtered at him. 

“The fuck do you mea—”

“ _Don’t_ speak unless spoken to,” Alastor continued over him, smile edging razor sharp. “ _Don’t_ touch anything. _Don’t_ look at anything for too long. Keep those hands to yourself and stay where I put you. Understand?” 

Angel looked at him for a moment like he had started speaking in squeals and grunts instead of perfectly dictated English. Then he scoffed, shifting his gaze and sucking on the inside of his cheek before chuckling darkly.

“Okay. That’s it. I am getting _really_ fucking sick of you trying to tell me what to do.” His body curved right over the bow of Alastor’s arms until their noses were almost touching. “Let me tell ya something _Alastor_ . I don't care who or what you are. I don't care if every other piece of slime around here falls at your feet but you are _not_ the boss of me. You wanna start ordering me around? Well, it's gonna cost ya.” He swayed forward, backing Alastor into the door and between the frame of his arms. The shack shifted in warning on the water. "And I don’t _kiss nice_.” 

Tremors raced down Alastor’s arms as his pupils shifted into dials. His fingers clenched and unclenched along the length of his staff. The air around them screeched on a frequency that usually crippled others, a warning of imminent death to anyone with a brain. **_"Do you have any intention of keeping those hands, Angel? Because you–are entirely too close.”_ **

"And you are full of _shit,"_ Angel growled back. 

There was a viable threat in Angel’s eyes as his lips curled back over his teeth. He had such a face, Alastor had to admit, a snarl that transformed him from joker to terror. 

They were so close Alastor could almost taste him; wondered for a wild, insane moment if Angel would let him sink his teeth into the line of his jaw. Wondered what it would feel like to breathe in his screams as the bones cracked. If Angel would welcome the challenge. 

The thought was suddenly so appealing, Alastor stamped down on the whispers flitting around in his mind with meticulous resolve until the rush in his ears ceased. There was no part of himself he was willing to let that far into the light. _Especially_ not for someone like this.

"On second thought; do what you want.” Alastor managed through the tight grip of his teeth. His smile never wavered, but it was far more forced than was comfortable. At that moment everything felt too close, too much. His control was teetering to threadbare. “But know that there are consequences for your actions.”

His words seemed to suck all of the air out of the space, allowing them both to unclench their muscles until Angel leaned back away from him again. The movement felt like it dropped the temperature to freezing like there had been any warmth left in Alastor’s body to steal in the first place.

“God, what is _with_ you?” Angel spun, tone bewildered as he dragged two hands through his hair. He took a breath like he needed to steady himself, to work out of the whiplash. Alastor watched a world of emotions shift across his face, his decision to let it go. “You’ve been sketchier than a narc out late on the south side. I don’t believe you actually give a fuck about what happens to us _or_ the hotel, Smiles, so what are you playing at?”

If this was a game, it was not in Alastor's favor. If it was, he wouldn't be feeling every breath and heartbeat and frisson of irritation and _concern_ currently coiling out of Angel’s chest. No, everything else could be dealt with. It was _Angel_ that was too much. 

Alastor brought a hand up to his chest, “Of course I _care_ . I've invested a lot of time and interest in our Charlie's endeavor. It’s just that this is a matter of _pride_.” He forced a laugh, turning the knob of the door slow enough to hear the ancient mechanics creak. “I do not appreciate others trying to play with my things. You'll understand that soon enough." 

  
The moment he pushed the door open, their guide shriveled to dust, sprinkling the doorway with the ancient remnants of it's essence before scattering in the breeze. It felt telling.  
  


-&&-&&-&&-

  
  
  
  


Angel was going to kill him. At this point, he honestly did not give a shit if he lost all his limbs in the process. It would be worth it.

He watched Alastor's back as he eased the door to the shack open, trying his best not to shred his lips with the points of his teeth. His heart was still beating in overdrive, anger and some other emotion he didn't want to bother thinking about still coursing through his blood like acid. 

The guy had looked like he wanted to take a bite out of him–and not entirely in a fun way. Part of Angel wanted him to try for it. The part that apparently didn't care that Al was one of the scariest motherfuckers in Hell. _Do it,_ Angel had wanted to say, _Do it so I have an excuse to make you_ **_bleed_ ** _._

It’d almost felt like voices in his head, urging his body forward to close the scant space left between their bodies. To flay Alastor open and slip inside until there was no longer an ending or beginning to either of them. 

_Which would have been all fine and good if it had been about_ **_sex_ ** _._ But unfortunately for him, that was actually, somehow, the very last thing on his mind. 

It was a good thing therapists were abundant in Hell. Angel was going to need one after this.

The hair on his arms hadn’t stopped standing on end. Alastor was a trickster and an elitist sonofabitch, but he rarely lost his cool and he’d done so more often in the last 48 hours than Angel could recall seeing in the entire months they’d occupied the same building. But then, he’d also almost let him get eaten by a whole ass alligator in a filthy, bug-ridden swamp and that was pretty on-brand.

All Angel knew for sure was that something was definitely up, and the bastard _wasn’t talking_. 

He made himself take a long, silent breath, lifting and lowering his arms because Al wasn’t looking at him anyway. _Just finish it out._ Angel told himself. They'd figure out what the real situation was, “fix” it, and afterward he’d go find a few Johns to fuck the weird buzzing out from under his skin. It would be fine. 

"Watch your step," Alastor muttered like an afterthought as they shuffled slowly inside. His voice was quiet; almost cautious. “Although this does remind me, now that we’re here, I should probably warn you about one last teeny tiiiiny little thing.” He said, emphasizing each word with the delicate point of his finger.

Angel rolled his eyes. “What now?”

“Oh, nothing to be too concerned about,” he said as they trailed through the entrance _hall_ that had no goddamn place in the middle of a dusty old shack. "Just that Sabine has always been a bit keen on spiders.” 

“Like, to keep or somethin’? I ain’t about to be no one’s pet.” 

“No, no, no dear," Alastor hummed, suddenly happy as could be. “To _eat_.” 

Yep. Killing him. 

Angel was so focused on trying to glare a hole in the back of the smug fuck’s head to register fully that the place they had entered into once again looked _nothing_ like it did on the outside. 

Rich, dark cherry wood lined the floors and the walls, pristine and polished to gleaming. They’d stepped into a fucking _foyer_ filled with crystal clear light, brushing past starlight-shaped pink flowers that smelled entirely too poisonous for Angel’s taste. He whirled around when the door closed behind him on its own, balking at the fancy square-cut windows that now outlined the shape of it. The view beyond them showed not the bayou they came from, but a calm lush of trees, blue skies, and warm sunlight. 

Angel nearly pressed his nose to the glass in awe, he’d never really been anywhere outside of the city when he was alive and always wondered what the woods would have been like. If it was anything like this...

As if sensing the barrage of questions that were running through Angel’s mind, Alastor's voice came drifting back at him from down the hall, “It's easier when you stop expecting things to be as you see them." 

Angel was still wicked pissed at him, but right now he could admit he was out of his depth. "Easy for you to say." Completely ignoring Alastor’s prior warning, he reached out to touch a bud pulsing thickly along the wall. It jumped as if feeling for him and he retracted his hand just as quickly. "The rest of Hell operates like a filthy city slum, but at least it's a _familiar_ city slum. People don't do this kinda thing anymore. I don’t know if they even can."

He looked up at a flash of red, catching Alastor's glance back at him over his shoulder. "Yes. Isn't it interesting, the things we forget?" 

Angel didn't answer. He'd never been good at forgetting, himself. 

Curling vines reached out towards them as they moved towards the great double doors. Alastor slid a key out of his pocket, an unassuming-looking skeleton that Angel couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised about. He seemed as familiar with this place as he was everywhere else and Angel found himself wondering, not for the first time, just what his story was.

When the lock clicked open, Alastor tucked his microphone under his arm and pushed at the doors with both hands. Angel gasped when the scent of plant life was almost immediately overwhelmed by the smell of death. 

While the rest of the house looked like it hosted dinner parties for socialites, this place had the look of a witch's morgue. Shelves filled with jars, dried herbs, books, and artfully arranged body parts lined the room in a perfect semi-circle. Lying directly in the middle was, what looked like, a surgeon's table, topped with crisp clean sheets all tucked in quarter-jump tight, patiently awaiting...well, he could probably guess. A second, smaller tray sat just to the left of it, lined with everything from gleaming white scalpels to far older, and far freakier-looking iron monstrosities lined with jagged iron points. 

To be fair, he’d seen freakier stuff in some of Val’s clients, but something about the stillness felt far more violent than anything he’d ever encountered. Still, he couldn’t let Al on to that.

Angel wrinkled his nose as he leaned in to catch a closer glimpse at the gangrenous-looking head staring sightlessly and open-mouthed at him from a greyish liquid. The glass vibrated with the tiny motions of the corpse's head, and even though the sound didn't quite reach his ears, Angel knew it was screaming. "Mmmm. No." He shook his head. "Sorry babe, but this isn't the type of kink I'm into. No shame or anythin' though. You get points for tryin.'" 

"Anthony," Alastor whispered, so quiet and sharp that Angel almost thought he'd misheard the use of his real name. _How the fuck does he know that?_ But Alastor had gone rigid next to him, only moving his lips to hiss: "Shut. Up." 

Oh, well, that probably wasn't good. 

Just then every hair on his body stood on end, overwhelmed with the feeling of being watched. A skittering met his ears, like bone on metal that may or may not have made the bottom drop out of his stomach for a hot second. He pressed closer to Alastor on instinct, whipping his head around back and forth to find the source of the noise. 

"What the fuck _now?"_ He muttered under his breath. A cool fluttering at his feet near rattled him out of his skin until he looked down to see tendrils of black and neon blue running in soothing motions against him. His shoulders drooped slightly and his gaze snapped up to the back of Alastor’s head. He could explain it but it felt...protective? No, that was stupid. He wouldn't bother expending that kind of energy. 

Angel didn't know how he felt about that line of thought.

The scrapping turned to a monstrous chittering, growing echoing in the empty chamber. Angel crossed his arms, fingers brushing against the comforting wisps of darkness. Something fell from the ceiling with such ferocity Angel did jump, gripping onto both of Alastor's arms and around his chest as a shriek tore from his throat. Great, 

“Sabine!” Alastor crowed. “Come now, my dear, won’t you show us your face?”

“Uh,” Angel leaned in to whisper into the ear that had flicked towards him. “Al, I don’t think—”

Whatever the blob had been before, it was shifting before their eyes. It un-made itself, the form bleeding into a gelatinous lump of blackened cells before rising up in a way that made Angel’s stomach turn. Twisting in place, it began molding itself in slick, cracking movements; vague impressions of arms and legs forming into something resembling a— woman. 

Angel gaped, gripping Alastor’s arms tighter, only to be zapped for it for his troubles until he let go. Ow. Fucker. 

Sabine rolled her head, neck cracking in painful sounding jolts. Her eyes were black as pitch, without pupils, surrounded by a downy brown fur that coated her from head to toe. Bat-like wings arched upwards, smacking outward so fast they cracked like a whip before curving back and settling around her shoulders like a cloak, hooked together by two tiny claws. She wore a simple, white dress, layered with what looked like white lace frills. The only pop of color was the deep, blood-red sash tied around the middle and accentuating the curve of her waist. 

Angel’s eyes flicked to the torture instruments and the body parts strewn throughout the room. If they lived through his, he _was going_ to get the name of this lady’s dry cleaner. 

Alastor stilled him with a tiny gesture of his hand and for once, Angel kept his mouth shut. Not because the guy was the boss of him or anything, but he really didn’t feel like getting eaten today. 

She stalked towards them, making her way around the examination table with slow, precise movements, eyes piercing in the bright light. The _click, click, click_ of her talons on the hard floor was entirely too freaky for Angel’s liking. He wasn’t afraid, per se, but this chick screamed bad news and Angel _did_ have a healthy dose of self-preservation instincts. 

“ _You_ ,” was a whole paragraph in itself, spat into the open air as she stopped less than a foot away from Alastor. 

She didn’t even glance at Angel. 

Alastor plastered on his cheesiest, show-host grin. He took a step forward, reaching out a (pretty fucking fearless) hand to the creature who was still glaring daggers into him like she was calculating just how slowly she wanted to rip the skin from his bones. “Ah.” He said, obviously catching onto something Angel did _not_. “I know it’s been a while, but there’s no reason to be—” 

Something _cracked_ with a viciousness that had Angel’s entire body curling in a flinch. He looked up to see Alastor’s head whipped to the side, eyes wide and shocked senseless. Sabine’s hand still hung in the air, a snarl rippling across her features. 

“ _Fèmen bouch ou!_ ” Sabine screeched, her voice thickening in outrage. Angel’s head whipped back and forth between them, a weird mix of horror and deep-rooted amusement warring inside of him when Alastor lifted a stunned hand to his cheek. “Do not talk to me in that _voice_.”

Angel’s hands were pressed to his mouth. He watched as Alastor’s body started to shake, as the dials rolled behind his eyes. Oh fuck, someone was going to _die_. He scrambled back a few feet, having been witness enough to Al’s giant ass sinkholes he was so fond of. 

But when Alastor lifted his gaze to meet hers, there were no unHellish screams from the upper deep, no black tentacles coming to claim their prize. Instead, Alastor dipped his head, hair hanging forward over his face in a respectful nod before lifting his arm to grasp her hand as it hung in the air. 

“ _M_ _wen te bliye._ ” He whispered in a voice Angel had never heard before. It was deeper, carrying the same drawl, the same bouncing vowels as Sabine’s. There wasn’t a hint of the usual static that accompanied any sound the guy usually made. It felt—natural. Like his voice was meant to be that way. 

A shudder ran through him and Angel bit his lip to keep it from making some sort of noise.

Alastor pressed his lips to the back of her hand. “Forgive me. You know best,” he said, lifting his head again. “ _Auntie_.”

In an instant her face changed; from sheer rage, to a muted fondness as she nodded at him in approval. She stroked the side of Alastor’s jaw. And he let her. Angel felt a flash of envy run through him for a split second before his brain caught up with him: 

“Wait, wait, wait. Hold _everything_ —What the fuck do you mean ‘Auntie’?! _”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> Fèmen bouch ou - Shut your Mouth
> 
> Mwen te bliye - I forgot, I had forgotten
> 
> I am obviously not fluent in Haitian Creole so if anyone has corrections, hit me up!

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyy so. I hope you guys don't expect chapter-length continuity outta me cuz...I don't have any. I just go until the talking stops. 
> 
> These two gripped me and would not let me go. I've been thinking about them non-stop for weeks. Here's my contribution, I'm sorry its nonsense. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
